Yesterday was St. Patrick’s Day.
And I had to work. All. Damn. Day.
You know, there was a time when my Spring Break coincided with St. Paddy’s Day. Once we even took a little mini-vacation for a couple of days. Ended in up Ybor City, the historic Cuban district of Tampa. Which doesn’t sound like the right place for a celebration of all things Irish, but we discovered that the James Joyce Irish Pub was within staggering distance of the San Vicente, the boutique hotel where we were staying, and we spent a good six hours downing green melon ball shots and listening to great music.
No such luck this year. When I arrived home from work, Mr. R asked if I wanted to go out. Umm… Have we met? The next question was where to go? O’Shea’s Irish Pub on Clematis in West Palm Beach seemed the obvious choice. After all, they’d been hosting a block party since 10am Friday morning.
However…In an effort to avoid what a friend of ours calls ‘St. Posers’, celebrants who only go out drinking on St. Patrick’s Day, we decided to cash in a gift card and head to Chili’s in Wellington. I know–not really an appropriate choice for the wearing of the green. But, as it turns out, margaritas are green. So there.
And I know, it’s an effing chain. But I had a Mexican combo and Mr. R had ribs, both delicious. Our server, Sean, was terrific, we’ll totally ask for him again. And did I mention margaritas? Nothing at all wrong with that.
Tonight’s serenade is a beautiful instrumental from the talented, and Irish, Corrs. I’m just mesmerized by this song. I mentioned that one day, Mr. R promises to take me to Ireland. I want to sit in a pub and sip normal-colored Guinness while I listen to something this magical.
Happy Saturday night!