Here’s a sad fact about me: I have never been able to totally relax and have a good time on St. Patrick’s Day. This year will be my first — if I book Friday off work, which I absolutely should not.
I’ve always had a paper, a project, a midterm, something that prevented me from enjoying a gold ol’ Irish night. So mine isn’t a story full of drunken fun times, as would be typical of a good St. Patty’s Day.
My story is full of failed flirtation and embarrassing cuteness, instead.
Four years ago, even though St. Patrick’s Day fell on a Saturday, I was up late writing a paper that was due in two days, because like a good student, I left it until the weekend before it was due.
I was staying up with a friend of mine in our residence floor’s lounge, both of us planning on being up until maybe four in the morning. We plowed through work, taking occasional YouTube karaoke breaks, but generally torturing ourselves for hours. (Why? I have no idea.)
Then, around midnight, we decided: fuck it! We’re making a McDs run! Because that is what you do when you’re miserable and not being social on St. Patty’s Day. (Obviously!)
So we get our stuff together and head out. On the way out the front doors of the building, this guy I barely know runs up to us. He was in the residence musical with me, so I’d seen him before, but that was the extent of my knowledge of this guy.
He yells my name, gives me the biggest, tightest hug of my life, and turns back to his two friends to shout to them, “I know beautiful people, see?”
He then turns back to me, “I know beautiful people, right?”
“Er, yeah, of course you do!” I don’t even know you. Was that supposed to be a compliment…?
Big Hugs asks where we’re going, so my friend and I explain that we’re on our way to McDonald’s.
He is all puppy smiles.
“We just came back from there! But we can go back, right? We can come with you, right guys?”
They groan, but so it began: my first kind-of St. Patty’s Day adventure, in the middle of a late night of studying.
On our way, I realize Big Hugs, though very drunk and so very talkative, is actually pretty cute. His friends are really sweet, too, so my friend and I decide, heck, let’s get to know these weirdos!
So we chat, we’re having a great time, talking about everything from the worst classes to our hometowns to dodgeball. (My university has an EPIC dodgeball league. For real. Trust me. #dodgeballislife)
We make it to McDs, and I get my fat child’s meal of chicken nuggets with BBQ sauce and a Filet-O-Fish with a large fries.
My disgusting, dripping grease craving satisfied, it was a good night in good company. Big Hugs guy is being adorable, drunkenly trying to flirt, and I’m on the ball picking up his slack.
Now, let me explain what I mean by trying and failing to flirt — and this applies to all of these boys.
On the way back to our residence, quite near the end of our adventure, I’m walking along with my friend, and the boys are being bros just ahead of us. We hear them talking about something called “ladying.”
We hear them talking about something called “ladying.”
So we ask them what the heck ladying is.
Their explanation: “We suck at ladying. Ladying is talking to ladies.”
“Excuse us, but are we not ladies?”
“You guys are beautiful! You’re beautiful. But it doesn’t count.”
(Later when sober, they explain that it didn’t count because they were drunk. But at the time, that was quite the conversation killer.)
Almost at the doors back at our residence, Big Hugs pulls the Epic Flirting Fail…
He tells me, “Hey, you should give me your number so I can drunk text you more!”
Why am I still dating this guy?
Happy St. Patrick’s Day! Do you have any for real epic St. Patty’s Day stories? Do tell!