I have reached a quandary: I am undoubtedly Irish, right? With my last name, family heritage, inexplicable desire for corned beef three hundred and sixty-five days a year and general hatred of the color orange, how could I be anything else? (The fact that mum's reliatives are all German is immaterial).
So why do I have such a deep-founded lack of interest when it comes to the potato?
I really do feel sympathy for the sufferers of the potato famine--a whole infostructure based on a root!--but I must be chanelling Queen Anne or Elizabeth or whoever it was that outlawed the potato in England, because I just do not see the attraction.
Maybe I'm English.
Or worse! Scottish!
Either way, I resign myself to being doused with whiskey and/or Porter and carried to the nearest Catholic confessional in an wool Aran playing "The Yoodil Is On Me Now" on a Bodhran.
Happy St. Patricks day.
2 comments:
I think it will be more worrisome when you turn twenty-one and develope a disinterest in green beer.
Athough really? You don't like potatoes? Because sometimes I kind of worship them. Especially when they're mashed.
If it's anything like Creme de Menthe, I am amazed I didn't loose intrest in it sooner...
PEROGIS? I can only go so far.
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