It’s amazing, the things you find when you’re cleaning house or rearranging furniture.
Take this past weekend, for instance. I’m prepping my home for Tara’s arrival, because see that little countdown box over there to the left? 5 days, man. Five days!! She’s nearly here, and I need to do a little work to get the place in order before she pulls up sometime on Saturday evening. She’ll have stuff to move in, and I need to clear space for it. So on Sunday, I moved a filing cabinet into the closet. It’s a big, metal four-drawer one that had taken up residence against a wall in my bedroom more than five years ago. When I moved it, I found a festive green plastic necklace with shamrocks and letters that spelled out KISS ME I’M IRISH wedged between the filing cabinet and the wall.
Which is really weird, because
- I am not Irish.
- I have no recollection of ever wearing said necklace.
“Where in the name of the Blarney Stone did this come from?!” I wondered out loud, and that was weird because – again – I am not Irish.
For the record, I like the Irish. They make great cream. They have a fondness for the booze. And U2 is a kick-ass band. Daniel Day-Lewis is Irish. Conan O’Brien is Irish. Finbar Furey is Irish. I have no idea who the hell he is*, but you gotta love the name! Sean Connery isn’t Irish, but he still has a funny accent and Scotland is within spitting distance of Ireland, anyway. Close enough for me!
* I now know who he is, thanks to the internet. Ol’ Finbar is a folk musician who plays the uilleann pipe and banjo with his three brothers in their band, The Fureys. I have no idea what the hell a uilleann pipe is, though. I suppose the internet would tell me that too, but I fear I’d just slip down some rabbit hole of weird Irish terms and phrases that would keep me clicking away for hours, so I’m-a gonna pass on further research. It just ain’t that important.
I am so fond of the Irish, in fact, I made the heroine and protagonist of my book, No Time For Kings, Irish. Her name’s Rachel Sullivan and she’s a fiery redhead (stereotypes be damned) with a strong will. One of my favorite movies is Once starring Glen Hansard (very Irish); the film is set in Dublin, and while I have to watch it with subtitles on every freakin’ time even though they’re speaking English, I love it anyway. Angela’s Ashes is a poignant and memorable memoir written by the definitely-Irish Frank McCourt, who talks about his childhood in both Ireland and New York. I even made corned beef and cabbage a few weeks ago for St. Patrick’s Day. And let’s not forget frosted Lucky Charms.
They’re magically delicious.
So I’ve definitely established the fact that Irish things appeal to me. Still, I cannot for the life of me figure out the origins of this Kiss Me I’m Irish necklace. I’m sure there’s a story behind it, and it’s probably a damn good one, too. It just kills me that I can’t remember it. The key question, of course, is: did anybody ever actually kiss me because I was wearing the necklace?
I doubt it. I’m pretty sure I’d remember a kiss.
I also don’t think it came out of a cereal box or anything, so the truth probably lies somewhere in between. Lost for the ages. Oh, well. I hope it was a fun occasion, whatever the occasion was.
And I wonder what other relics from the past I’m going to unearth while getting ready for my girlfriend?