Every Day Is Green

No, a leprechaun didn't explode. It's just always St. Paddy's Day at Holloway's.

By now, Katie had walked back over.

"We haven't told her yet about streaking day," Ruben said slyly.

"No," Katie screwed up her face in disgust. "He's lying. There is absolutely none of that."

"Oh, come on," I said. "If I wrote that you guys have a streaking day, you'd get tons of people in here."

"Yeah, naked people," said Katie. "I'm OK without that."

I turned to C.J. and asked if he'd be coming back for St. Patrick's Day. He thought about it for a minute, visibly counting the days in his head. "Nope," he said finally. "I don't think so."

He didn't seem too disappointed about it either, but who could blame him? He was going to be home in Ireland for St. Patrick's Day, and although I was sure to be at Holloway's, the next best thing, I couldn't help but be a little jealous. After all, the grass is always greener on the other side, and the drunken shenanigans are always more drunken in Ireland.

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