Observations of Life on St. Patrick’s Day

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Been out looking for leprechauns today. Haven’t seen any yet. Am I ready to declare there are no leprechauns? Not me. You do it.

Checking out at Publix with our groceries. Lady behind me was pulling her skirt around. Never had seen such a shift. The front of her skirt must have been in the back. Nice looking lady. Fumbled around with my money waiting for her skirt to fall off. It didn’t. Just wanted to see if she was wearing green underneath. How else could I tell if she were Irish?

Had a stiff back today. Couldn’t walk very well. Resembled the mummy in the mummy movies. There’s always a positive side to everything. I’ll be the mummy’s stand-in in the next movie.

We ran into school traffic on the way home. When I parked the car to go get our pizza take-out, a bunch of kids were coming down from the middle school. Their clothes looked normal—if you were casting for a horror movie.

Bought stamps today. Unusual. No customers in the post office. Normally people are lined up around the block. I had my one-liners ready if there had been a crowd. If I had been standing next to a black person. I would have asked him/her, “Are you waiting to vote for Donald Trump?” I did have my one-liner for a white person. “Are you the redneck I read about who’s voting for Donald Trump?”

Did run into a former University of Alabama Birmingham (UAB) basketball player last time I was in that post office. Nice guy. Very nice guy. He played in the glory days of UAB when Gene Bartow was the coach. Some people thought Gene had lost his mind when he relinquished the coaching job at UCLA to start a basketball program at UAB. They didn’t have to wonder for long, because if you wanted to play anybody in the NCAA tournament, it wasn’t UAB. Gene died. I believe it was cancer. The basketball player I saw in the post office said they were honoring his team that coming weekend at the UAB Arena. He said Gene’s widow would be there. Always got the impression Gene’s widow loved the players as much as Gene did.

If there is a knock on our front door today, I’m not answering. It might be a leprechaun.

I’m not Irish. Mostly English I guess. That doesn’t keep me from enjoying some Irish songs. “When Irish Eyes are Smiling”, “Galway Bay”, “Danny Boy”.

Wait a minute. “Danny Boy” is Scottish and not Irish. I was in a hotel bar in Chicago one night when I asked a Scottish band to play “Danny Boy”, because I thought it was an Irish song. Didn’t know why the band’s front man looked at me odd when I asked them to play it. They were good sports about it, and still played “Danny Boy”. Glad I didn’t have to read in the Chicago paper the next day that an idiot from Birmingham started a Scottish-Irish war—in the United States.

Something did dash around a corner as I headed for my hotel room that night. It was wearing a lot of green. No, not what you think. I only drank Coca Cola in the bar. Was it a leprechaun? Don’t ask me.

I had a client in Virginia who knew my fondness for Irish songs sung by a true Irishman. She recorded two cassette tapes for me of one of the better known Irish singers and gave them to me next time I was in her office. I always regarded my clients as friends. They must have regarded me in the same fashion.

Of course friends give friends Christmas presents, and I happened to be there one time on the very night they were holding their Christmas party at a local restaurant. I had pulled a good trick on the ladies of the office staff the time before when I was there, so they plotted and plotted.

All the presents had been passed around except one. Mine, which I did not know I was getting. I was the only company representative there receiving a present. I was highly suspicious as I read their faces, and especially the face of the owner of the business. The only way all the ladies could have looked guiltier is that if they had confessed before I opened their present.

I took my time. When I peered down in the box there was a pair of white undershorts with red Santa Claus and reindeer figures all over. All the ladies clambered for me to show everybody. I’ve always thought humor is a two-way street. I swept them out of the box into grand view, and the ladies almost fell out of their chairs laughing. That happened many, many years ago. I still have the shorts.

Has anybody seen a leprechaun today? Positive sightings please—send them to me on your smart phone. You don’t believe there are leprechauns? You are a brave soul. I’m not saying there are not leprechauns.

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