Luck of the Irish

Happy St. Patrick's Day to you all! I hope you've donned your green proudly and declared yourself Irish for the day. If not, what the heck are you waiting for?! Grab a black and tan and meet me at the pub.

As I said yesterday, I have always loved St. Patty's Day. Always. How can you not?! You get to wear a "costume" and celebrate a heritage while drinking beer and eating shepherd's pie. Two years ago, I celebrated my first St. Pat's with my then boyfriend. We'd met exactly 30 days earlier. He left early to go to a local pub and save a table for me and two of my friends, just so that we would actually GET a table. We had a fun evening complete with green devil horns), then trekked back to his place. We both settled in on his recliner, me in his lap. His roommate left to get some DVD rental, since nothing was on. I closed my eyes and nestled on in, all comfy and cozy and utterly happy. He said my name, and I didn't open my eyes, just gave him a little "hmm?" He said it again, this time I looked at him because I'd obviously missed something. Then he said it. He told me he loved me for the very first time....both of us in his recliner.....on St. Patty's Day. I believe my reaction was of disbelief at what I'd just heard and what he calls "eyes as big as saucers". So he said it again. I got so giddy I thought my heart would leap right out of my chest! We kissed and snuggled some more. Then we got teased mercilessly for being mushy by said roommate because we hadn't even bothered to turn the television on because we were "too busy making eyes at each other".

I thought I'd always loved this holiday just because it was silly fun. Now, I love it because it reminds me of the first time my husband told me he loved me, ever. Priceless.

Love you baby!