Make Mine a Guinness

“Gimme a pint Paddy.”
“I’ll build it for ya Mick, let me get rid of the Yank drinking Mexican horse piss, kids today wouldn’t know their Guinness from their Smithwick.”
“No rush, herself is at a hen party for Mrs. Shea tonight. I told the Mrs. she was too old to be chasing the craic. Not the proper thing at all for an old girl. Imagine remarrying when Declan ain’t been dead but two years. A saint, I say. He never let a man raise a pint alone. They say it was the drink that took him, but I think it was the naggin’. It’ll be a cold day in hell when a man cain’t raise a Guinness without a fuss in Ireland.”
“I can see the bottom of that glass, can I start ya another, Mick?”
“No, thank ya kindly, I promised herself I’d have but one and I ain’t about confessing otherwise on Sunday.”
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I’ll be confessing to Dr. Seuss himself for that bad poetry. We will be raising a pint for St. Paddy’s Day in Loreto, Mexico next week. Believe it or not, we have an Irish born brew master in town so we’ll toast with a stout and dance to a Mexican/Celtic band.