of the year is March 18. Because on March 18, it's over: the meanest, loudest, most obnoxious day of the year. Yes, I'm a no-fun curmudgeon. I'm an old fuddy-duddy. I'm the Scrooge of March. I hate St. Patrick's Day.
I don't remember always hating it. It seems to me back in the day, I didn't actually have to take too much crap from anyone for declining to wear green. I don't wear green because a) I'm a non-conformist and 2) it's not a great color for me. Except that second one probably isn't true with my dark hair and hazel eyes, so it's really much more of the first one. I just don't remember it being that big a deal when I was younger. I'm not Irish or Catholic, so it never seemed like something that really had anything to do with me.
I think my real dislike for St. Patrick's Day started 7 years ago when I started at my current job. Every March 17, our building is taken over by drunken revelers. We're on the parade route, or near enough it that getting around by car is nearly impossible. But twice, March 17 happened to fall on the one day of the year that my mother was in town for work and could have lunch with me. I frankly resented that we had such a difficult time getting together for lunch even though she was 2 blocks down from my building.
Then the partiers hang out in our lobby for hours. The floor gets sticky from spilled beer. The air reeks of corned beef and cabbage. I am not a fan of corned beef and cabbage. And the stupid drunk people in the lobby threaten to pinch me. (I don't think anyone actually has, but the threat itself could be considered assault you know.) Each year, I have become increasingly annoyed by the day.
If only people would let me not be a St. Patrick's Day person, it would be better. It's not that I'm not a fun person; this just isn't my thing. I like a good tailgate, or a night out at the bars. You all know this about me, so why do I have to have some reason for not caring about this particular non-holiday? Just let me stay quiet in my office and don't give me a hard time for not playing along. But they don't. They pester me and tease me and harass me. So this year, I'm staying home. I'm getting work done here, I'm playing with my dog, and nobody can see what color I am wearing (or not wearing).
Of course, the damn parade route in this town is so close to my house that my street is a staging ground. I guess I really can't escape. Tomorrow really can't come soon enough.