When you're married to an Irish person, there are some things you must be prepared to endure. First, we are a confident bunch. We know what we're good at and we have no problem showing you that you're doing it wrong. Get used to this 'cause our self-esteem won't be dwindling just to make you feel better.
Second, we are story tellers. As I learned at Irish Fest, it's bred into us. We were encouraged to pass on our history verbally rather than written, so you really must get used to the chatter. Also, we exaggerate. We are honest in our story telling, so it's not that we are lying or even bending the truth...we just like to prove our point by emphasizing certain details.
Another thing, the majority of us are a proud bunch. Not all, but we don't speak of those that aren't. Kinda like how you don't speak of your uncle's third nipple or your cousin who married her sister's ex-husband. Everyone in the family knows about it, but it's not something you discuss and you let new people find out on their own. You're not necessarily ashamed, you just know there are much more interesting things others should know about your family.
So, those of us that are proud of our heritage, are very proud. We wear our red hair, freckles, blue eyes, outgoing personality, and/or see through skin like a badge of honor. And if you're one of the luckiest of the lucky you have all of those traits (*cough cough* some of us are just luckier than others). And we love to get together with our people. St. Patrick's Day is only one of the days you must celebrate who we are. Irish Fest is another.
Thankfully, hubby is quite pleased to not only tolerate all of these things, but also willingly partakes in them. I firmly believe that he wishes he was Irish. Marrying me was the closest he could get to that wish because he gets to have all the Irish in his life without also having the blood.
|At Irish Fest.|
We learned the history of the legendary red-headed fiery temper. I will summarize it for you: way, way long, long time ago, before the interwebs or cell phones, a lot of people in Ireland were lazy. They hired women who happened to have red hair to do some things they very easily could have done themselves. Then they did not pay these women--apparently they were not only lazy, they were also not that wise. As a result of angering the original red heads, red headed women are now given this mythological temper (to go along with the amazing personality and looks, of course) as they seek repayment for this long overdue debt owed them. More proof that you should never tick off a red head, as if you needed more.
|Them's some big green balls |
you got there, hubby man.
Last weekend I added 1 more breed to that list....
I want. Not now, because it would not fit in my teeny tiny house. Seriously, the thing is as long as my bed and as tall as a few of my children. Add those together and you've got an animal that can knock over a couch and china cabinet just attempting to take a nap.
Oh, do you see that lovely sweatshirt I am wearing? It's my Dirty Dancing sweatshirt that hubby bought me because I loved the show so much. Yeah, it's awesome.
|He is not a huge fan of|
Guinness, but he puts
forth his best efforts.
After the proper poised stance, you need to ensure that you are drinking mostly beer with just a little bit of foam. Don't just take a mouthful because you'lll get all foam that is full of bitter notes. In practicing this technique, if you do not encompass the Irish proficiency for drinking delicious beer and all other forms of liquor you may end up looking like this...
|Uh...you have a little|