Today, many otherwise responsible, work-a-day folk are going to go around all day pinching people who aren't wearing green and then go out to an overcrowded pub, wait four times as long as usual for a drink and down lots of whiskey and green beer.
Not that there is anything wrong with that. But holidays, for the most part, underwhelm me.
Maybe it's because, having been a waitress practically since I was in diapers, I worked a lot of those days. I have seen couples barely speak to each other during a "romantic" Valentine's Day dinner. I have been yelled at for someone having to wait for a table...on Christmas. I have celebrated New Years Eves sweeping up after a long night with my fellow staff and an unauthorized bottle of champagne.
In a way, being a holiday non-believer is a relief. I will never be let down by my husband not buying me flowers on "V-day", I wake up feeling mostly chipper on the first day of the year, I never have to buy (or, heaven forbid, "work" for) a bunch of cheap plastic beads that will be sent to the landfill the day after Fat Tuesday...which is what, bloated Wednesday? Or wait is that Ash Wednesday? Sorry, I just don't know.
This is not a popular stance. Family, friends and society on a whole do not approve. I have been called a scrooge, and I'm sure I miss out on a whole lot of fun. But give me an impromptu dinner party that happens to be the best meal all year, give me a surprise gift that really says "I thought of you," give me a shared bottle of wine and a nighttime stroll and I will be happy as a clam. After all, holidays at their best are just reminders. They remind us to love, to be thankful, and to be spirited. But sometimes they just get in their own way.
This is nobody I know, but someone we all know.