Dreams of St. Patrick

People always challenge me with the most perplexing inquiries, such as “Do dogs dream?”, “How can a door be ajar?”, and “If I had a foot amputated, would I suffer from lack-toes intolerance?”  While it’s true that I know almost everything worth knowing, I’m no WikiFlapia. Still, permit me to answer the ‘dream’ question.  You’ve seen dogs sleep, as they whimper and twitch their legs.  What did you think was happening? (And please don’t give me that old song and dance about dogs – in their sleep – doing an old song and dance).  Of course we dream..dreams of elusive grandeur, disturbingly prophetic dreams, and dreams of transcendent corned beef.

Last night I dreamed of corned beef…and cabbage…and Irish whiskey.  Was it a coincidence that St. Patrick’s Day is near?  Or was it just another typical drooling dream of ethnic food?  It must be the former, because the dream involved St. Patrick himself, patron saint of Ireland and the  Boston Celtics.  He appeared to me in a white robe, wolfing down a huge shepherd’s pie and a pint of Guinness.  After I ensured that the pie had no Australian Shepherd ingredients and that he had an extra pint for me, we had a conversation.

He explained that the story of him driving all the snakes out of Ireland was a complete myth.  He said that there were never any snakes in Ireland, but he did do battle with a few tape worms and a defective plumber’s snake used to clear a drain.  He also invented artificial boulders for landscape purposes – much lighter than real boulders.  They were known as sham rocks.

Before he died, St. Patrick befriended and redeemed a dwarf leper who made his living by swindling people out of their hard earned gold.  Each such incident was known as a leper-con.

St. Patty handed me a few lucky charms (which was, to my disappointment, a bowl of cereal with yellow moons and pink hearts), and some financial advice (something about finding the end of a rainbow).  He then patted me on the head, and disappeared.   When I awoke, I found a real 4-leaf clover on my bed.  Could it be that the saint somehow left it there for me?  I have heard that this rare clover leaf is a sign of good luck if you keep it with you at all times.  Perhaps.  But I ate it.

As everyone eats and drinks to celebrate the day, you’d think I’d be positively green with envy.  But for me, it’s enough to know that the man himself gave me a bit of his time and a St. Pat on my head.

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