St. Patrick's Night

I've said before in this space that I don't go out drinking on St. Patrick's Day--too much like amateur night for my taste--but after a long week at work and before a well-earned day off, I decided a bit of anesthetic was called for.

The glass pictured above was the first of three rounds--a light night, I'll agree, but the goal wasn't to get plastered, but merely numbed--consumed in my favorite downtown bar, which was strangely unpopulated but for a table of attractive young women in the corner and a few scattered couples throughout the establishment, and me. Those three rounds and a tasty patty melt did me just fine.

However (isn't there always a "however"?), my waitress, a nice Eastern European lay who's waited on me many a time, gave me a free shot of Irish whiskey in a tall tequila glass--whether it was because I was one of the few people in the bar on a night when it should have been packed, because I was the only one in the bar sitting by himself, or because of thee "holiday" itself, I do not know. But that one tall shot was just enough to tip me over the line from drunk to DRANK, which made walking to the train more challenging than anticipated.