I'm glad St. Patrick was Irish instead of Scottish. I don't think I could stomach plaid beer.
An Irishman by the name of O'Malley proposed to his girl on St. Patrick's Day. He gave her a ring with a synthetic diamond. The excited young lass showed it to her father, a jeweler. He took one look at it and saw it wasn't real.
The young lass, on learning it wasn't real, returned to her future husband. She protested vehemently about his cheapness.
"It was in honor of St. Patrick's Day," he protested.
"I gave you a sham rock."
Flynn staggered home very late after a St. Patrick's Day spent at the local pub. He took off his shoes to avoid waking his wife.
He tiptoed as quietly as he could toward the stairs leading to their upstairs bedroom, but misjudged the bottom step. As he caught himself by grabbing the banister, his body swung around and he landed heavily on his rump. A whiskey bottle in his back pocket broke and made the landing especially painful.
Managing not to yell, Flynn sprung up, pulled down his pants, and looked in the hall mirror to see that his butt cheeks were cut and bleeding. He managed to find a full box of Band-Aids and began quietly putting a Band-Aid as best he could on each place he saw blood.
He then hid the now almost empty Band-Aid box and shuffled and stumbled his way to bed.
In the morning, Flynn woke up with searing pain in both his head and butt and his wife staring at him from across the room.
She said, "You were drunk again last night weren't you?"
Flynn said, "Why would ye say such a mean thing?"
"Well," she said, "it could be the open front door, it could be the broken glass at the bottom of the stairs, it could be the drops of blood trailing through the house, it could be your bloodshot eyes, but mostly . . . it's all those Band-Aids stuck on the hall mirror."
2 comments:
"He managed to find a full box of Band-Aids"
Band-Aids are referred to as "Plasters" in Ireland.
Toejam
No wonder the Irish got the terrible reputation in the US of being 'plastered', the walls back then were all daub and waddle. The saying must have started to apply to Irish plasterers in the 19th Century. I was never accused of being plastered until the 60's. Come to think of it, I was in college too, and I didn't have that much to drink, and I didn't remember needing any band-aide, and I am Irish. But I do remember, about that time I did have to scrape a lot of wallpaper and re-plaster a lot of cracks in the walls. I think it's terrible that someone took a simple "Irish" word and twisted it to mean something else entirely. I've been Irish 'plastered' more times than I can count; I've 'plastered' but never been plastered; and I've been a little tippsy too, why I could tell ya tales that would make you sick as a dog, I know now not to mix the bubbly; but I've never been 'plastered' (meaning too much to sip, falling down dead in the gutter, lying there in my own puke, out like a light to the world) ever! Not in the street! Not me! Aren't words funny little beggers? No wonder people get confused. You should hear what sailors call some things, crazy, real crazy, like hatch, forward, aft, scuttlebutt, mess, ward, a'loft, a'beam; sailors probably started that lie about 'plastered'. Really! You should hear what they call the toilet, crazy!
Post a Comment