Student: “Are you wearing green because it’s St. Patrick’s Day?”
Student: “What does the green stand for?”
Me: “Avarice, envy, and gangrene.”
Me: “The beautiful, rolling green hills of Ireland.”
Okay, this is truly pathetic…I mean to post this when it happened in March, so bear with me, and pretend that it’s St. Patrick’s Day, and excuse me for being, apparently, so drunk that I’m just getting around to hitting the ‘publish’ button.
Ryan: Lick of the Irish? That sounds like the makings of an excellent evening.
Me: This is why we’re together.
(Five minutes later…)
Ryan: Order whatever you want on it, the kids will eat it.
Ryan: Damn it, disregard, this is what happens when I text you and my mom at the same time. She and I were trying to figure out what kind of pizza to order for dinner.
Me: Just be happy you texted me about pizza, and didn’t text her about your cunnilingus skills.
Ryan: Yeah, nothing kills the mood more than talking to your mom about giving head. That’s the anti-viagra.
Me: That will never be on a Cialis ad.
Ryan: If it were, it would be two side-by-side bathtubs with one of them falling over a cliff.
Liam: “How does the Irish Santa look different from ours?”
Me: (mumbling) “He’s carrying a beer, and he’s drunk.”
Me: “He’s wearing green instead of red.”
Me: My mother is watching some BBC period drama on Netflix. The giggling and whining about dowries is killllling me.
Ryan: Have you even seen The Quiet Man? That’s my kind of take on dowries. Beer and fighting, just like God and the Irish intended.
Me: Well, I come with my own Waterford and a paid-off college education, if that does it for you.
Ryan: I have a box of my grandmother’s china and a baseball signed by the 1979 Pittsburgh Pirates.
Me: I can’t resist a good baseball, especially when it’s been handled by pirates.
Ryan: Generally, I’m against letting pirates touch my balls.
Me: It’s the hook-hand, isn’t it?
Ryan: It is now.
Ryan: The kids with their dad?
Me: Yup. I might pull a Risky Business in a minute and do some air guitar in my underpants.
Ryan: Just don’t start a brothel in your house, or you’ll spend the entire weekend terribly concerned about an overpriced crystal egg.
Me: You just know his parents were at some high-end swinger’s weekend…some Eyes Wide Shut number.
Ryan: You mean where they wear masks, and could just as easily be attending a human sacrifice?
Me: WASP boners as far as the eye can see…
Ryan: WASPS don’t have “boners”, and they can only get them if they throw back a Cyalis with their single-malt.
Me: Thank God we’re just poor Irish-Italian immigrant trash. Our people only needed a couch and healthy dose of shame, and it was on.
Ryan: Shame is Irish lubricant. Also liquor, let us not forget the liquor.
Me: And the Italian side?
Ryan: Italians are passionate. Any high surface will do. Countertop…Tables…Hood of a Fiat…
Me: Back of a Vespa?
Ryan: I’ve heard you can’t get pregnant on the back of a Vespa.
Me: I think we just explained why you have so many cousins, Casanova.