Standing in a line that wound out to the parking lot to get into an Irish pub. A bagpipe band is playing. That's not Irish, I said. Nobody cared. Three girls in line before me dressed in green with green tiaras that said, "Kiss Me, I'm Irish." One wore a short green skirt with a black crepe slip peeking out, a bold black belt, and a green bustiere that did what it was supposed to do. Black knee boots. I don't get out much any more. After standing in the line that would not move, we decided to get corned beef and cabbage elsewhere.
I've become Clark Griswold.
Luck of the Irish.