beers

Hi, Jessica. I’m aware that you’re upset with me. However, I want you to know that I gave it my best effort. This year was supposed to be different. Was I wrong to drink fourteen green beers before noon? Maybe. Was I out of bounds to steal a child’s skateboard and try to skitch on the back of a parade float? Probably. Would I take any of it back? Yes. I want to take it back.

I honestly believed I would be able to keep things together this year, but unfortunately I ended St. Patrick’s Day newly unemployed for the fifth year in a row. I’ll get it together, though. If we move a few towns over, I’m sure there are people who haven’t heard. We’ll start fresh. You can focus on your paintings. I’ll join a new cover band.

Are you sure I smashed the jukebox at O’Reillys because it didn’t have that one Third Eye Blind album? That seems a little over the top and, frankly, it doesn’t really sound like me. I thought I smashed it over a Pixies album. Yes, it was petty and immature. In my defense, you know what’s also petty and immature? Asking somebody to leave a bar because they love the album Doolittle and they’re not afraid to show it.

Okay, I’ll admit that I went overboard when I infiltrated the parade’s marching band, stole the head bagpipe player’s clothing, and convinced them to shift their route toward Bubba Gump in Times Square,┬ábut could anyone really have known that it would result in a 35 tuba player pile-up and a hot dog vendor uprising that will go on to span the next three decades?

Babe, we’ve been through this. I don’t know why I trapped the real head bagpipe player in my parents’ Prius. I do know that I can’t undo the past. Well, yes, he’s still locked in there, but I’m in too deep to let him go now so I can’t undo the future, either. Next year, I’ll make sure to stay away from the marching band.

Yes, there will be a next year, Jessica. I’m not going to hang up my shamrock sunglasses. I can’t compromise on this. I suppose this is goodbye, then. I want the ring I gave you back. And the comically over-sized leprechaun hat. Please, just leave. If you’re going to kiss me goodbye, I don’t want it to be because you pity me. I want it to be because I’m Irish.

 

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