St. Patrick's Day. What should have been a night of drunken debauchery turned into a night of extreme awkwardness. All my friends were out of town, so I settled for a night in with the family. No amount of green beer could save me from a night like this.
First my mom insisted on building a leprechaun trap. She teaches middle school, and some nights she can't seem to comprehend that the youngest person in our house is going to be 19 in less than a month. But, because my brother and I are good kids—and had absolutely nothing better to do with our lives—we pulled out a box and some string and went to work.
My mom insisted that potatoes are sure-fire bait for leprechauns, but my brother begged to differ. He instead found one of my old Barbies, put it in the shortest green Barbie dress he could find and laid her under the box. Then my mom shooed us out of the house with our dad.
We returned to find a ""shocking"" discovery, a leprechaun had set off our trap. The box was down and gold glitter was sprinkled around it. We opened it to find some chocolate gold coins, but no little man with a pot of gold.
I asked my mom if maybe the leprechaun could have left some real gold instead to help me out with those pesky rent payments, but apparently leprechauns don't believe in helping their lazy daughters who only come home to do laundry. Or at least that's what my mom thought the leprechaun said.
With the chocolate coins gobbled up, it was time for some dinner. My dad makes corned beef and cabbage every year for the holiday, but nobody really knows why. Yes, I know it's a traditional Irish American dish, but the thing is, no one in our family actually likes it.
My brother is picky, so he opted for a hot dog instead. My mother pointed out that she is German, not Irish, and couldn't fully appreciate the dinner. So it was left for my father and me to enjoy.
My dad dropped a heaping bulk of food in front of me. Greasy, smelly and probably incredibly unhealthy, I stared at it while my appetite shrunk away. My dad and I scarfed down a few bites, then decided to ""save room for dessert."" I have never eaten so many chocolate gold coins in my life.
After dinner, we were going to sit down and watch a movie as a family. My brother turned on the Sci-fi channel and began pushing for ""The Leprechaun"" series, which was about halfway through a day-log marathon.
If you haven't heard of ""The Leprechaun,"" it is an awesomely bad movie series that follows a 600-year-old leprechaun who is trying to kill, well, everyone. He dies a horribly gruesome death in every movie, but somehow was able to return and make such classics as ""Leprechaun 4: In Space,"" ""Leprechaun in da' Hood,"" and my personal favorite, ""Leprechaun: Back 2 tha Hood.""
Sadly, my mother decided that these violent, sexual and horrible dialogue -ridden films weren't in the holiday spirit. I thought about making a cheap joke about how being violent and sexual probably couldn't be more Irish, but in efforts to support family fun I refrained.
Instead of a 90s slasher flick, my dad popped in the movie ""Taken."" As we were all sitting down for some family time, I decided it would be a good time to tell my family about my plans to travel to Ireland and France this summer to visit friends studying abroad.
Unfortunately I didn't realize ""Taken"" was about two girls traveling Europe alone who get abducted and sold as sex slaves. I was quickly told that I would NEVER be going to Europe, and would probably never be allowed to travel alone again.
All in all, I suppose it wasn't a bad night. I didn't get any green beer, I didn't get kissed because I was Irish, and I didn't even get to use my blinking green shot class. But I had a good time with my family, and isn't that really what holidays should be about?
Ugh, I am choking on my own cheesiness. Does anyone have any leftover green beer?
If you still build leprechaun traps in an effort make extra rent money, e-mail Megan at mcorbett2@wisc.edu.
