There are no recipes, only showing off. This year for St. Patrick’s Day, I spent the day and night with one of my best friends and her family, who I am happy to also consider my friends. We started the day with shots of Bailey’s. Her mother made corned beef, cabbage, and red potatoes all served with mustard.
We slathered salty, room-temperature butter on homemade Irish soda bread, and then we enjoyed Irish-themed goodies from Betty Bakery.
I have some great friends.
My brother, an Airman and, more importantly, my best friend, is as much of a disappointment as his sister. Despite having been guided by our parents and disciplined by the U.S. Air Force, his standards for living have obviously declined since he’s been on his own. This is evidenced by the contents of his refrigerator:
Here we have a mostly eaten package of taco-flavored shredded cheese, two hot dogs, jelly, mustard, and a Domino’s…coupon. Remind you of anyone? It’s obvious now more than ever that we share the same bloodline.
I wonder if he eats this stuff in his underwear. I doubt he eats anything in his underwear. In fact, I doubt he even eats.