Monday, February 11, 2013

Ready For The March

Someone asked if I was Irish today.

Admittedly I was wearing an Irish rugby jersey. Particularly shameful considering the Six Nations is actually going on at the moment and England have just beaten Ireland. But the key here is that when I asked if it was because of the shirt they had no idea at all what I was talking about. No - it was because I said - with a forced cheeriness - "don't worry - we're not contagious!" whilst buying a cart-load of cold medicine at the grocery store. Either I said that with a strangely unidentifiable accent or the cashier has had some appallingly poor luck with dishonest, sick Irish people in her time. Still odder was after I said I wasn't she gave me the up and down that suggested that I wasn't being serious. I told her I was English to which she suspiciously responded, ".....really?" Why is that unbelievable? Now I feel like taking the piss so as to tickle her suspicions of my secret Irishness. I for one can't wait until the 12th of July when I pop into the grocery store - completed kitted out in orange - to buy some Guinness and a potato.

As for us we're still slowly coughing through the day. My daughter got a burst of energy around noon which was refreshing. The sun came out too so I woke up and vowed to fight off my cold like a true warrior. The kids and I had a quick game of Mr. Toe. Which - I'm ashamed to admit - is basically my children talking to my foot. That came about after my son fell down the stairs about a month and a half ago. He was apparently being a bit casual on the top step and just fell backwards the whole way down. He escaped that completely unscathed which was an amazing piece of luck (and after which I learned that practically everyone I know has endured the same thing with their kids). He appeared to be show no adverse effects afterwards - but did then subsequently start spending a lot of time cuddling my foot and saying, "Mr. Toe - I love you." Which he then claimed was a game. And that he taught to his sister. Who both now fight me to take off my socks so they can talk to Mr. Toe. It's not weird at all....

Anyway - we played that, had a bit of a wrestle and then this happened.

The dog is quite happy with this whole thing.And to tie the evening off I think I'll have an Irish coffee later. Not with my wife's fancy whiskey (yes - you read that right - she's enjoying a nice Macallan twelve-year Single Malt at the moment) though. She'd be livid me wasting her Old Man Liquor on a medicinal tipple.

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