St Patrick's Day has finally come to and end, thank goodness. Jarrett and Carney set up a photo-op at The Dubliner, an Irish bar near the Capitol. I had to order a Guinness, and look as though I was enjoying it. I planned to distract people's attention a couple of times and "accidentally" spill some, but one Secret Service guy had been assigned to do nothing else but watch my glass to make sure no-one tried to poison me (which in the circumstances would have been a kindness) So I had to keep smiling and gradually sip my way through a whole pint of stout, which tasted just the same as it did on my visit to Ireland, like an infusion of burned rope and roasted leprechaun beard.
Worse was to come. Michelle had ordered a green-themed meal from the White House kitchen, with salad of green lettuce and avocado and -- of course -- a main course of her daggone home-grown frozen peas. All I could think of as I ate my peas was that delicious bison Wellington at the state dinner a couple of nights ago. Sic transit gloria mundi. [translation: Gloria threw up on the Metro. Now that's funny, if I say so myself. And I do.] The real bad news came when Hillary reminded me that the Irish Prime Minister Enda Kenny will be visiting on Tuesday and we'll have to go through the whole shamrock routine again.
After dinner M. and I caught up with last night's Tonight Show on the DVR. Leno was wisecracking about how today would be my third St Patrick's Day in the Oval office without creating a single "green" job. Hardy, har, har. That guy's about as funny as Sandra Fluke with PMS. Scary woman. Which reminds me, M. is saying it's late. So I must shut the trusty laptop, say my nightly prayer to myself. And so to bed.
Worse was to come. Michelle had ordered a green-themed meal from the White House kitchen, with salad of green lettuce and avocado and -- of course -- a main course of her daggone home-grown frozen peas. All I could think of as I ate my peas was that delicious bison Wellington at the state dinner a couple of nights ago. Sic transit gloria mundi. [translation: Gloria threw up on the Metro. Now that's funny, if I say so myself. And I do.] The real bad news came when Hillary reminded me that the Irish Prime Minister Enda Kenny will be visiting on Tuesday and we'll have to go through the whole shamrock routine again.
After dinner M. and I caught up with last night's Tonight Show on the DVR. Leno was wisecracking about how today would be my third St Patrick's Day in the Oval office without creating a single "green" job. Hardy, har, har. That guy's about as funny as Sandra Fluke with PMS. Scary woman. Which reminds me, M. is saying it's late. So I must shut the trusty laptop, say my nightly prayer to myself. And so to bed.
