This year I forgot all about Mardi Gras. Drat! I love dressing up in masks and beads and partying down. In times past, there was often a big party, and Mardi Gras was one of my favorite holidays.
No partying this year. So busy was I on Tuesday polishing up my résumé, applying for jobs, and following what was going on with Obama’s non-State-of-the-Union address that the whole whoopdepoop happened without me. Sigh. I not only missed the show, but also Obama has ruined the State of the Union drinking game. How are we going to get smashed without “nuke-u-ler”? Maybe by the time he gets around to delivering an actual State of the Union, we’ll have figured out some new rules. Every time Obama speaks in complete sentences, drink one shot. When the policies make sense and will do the country some good, drink two shots. Something like that.
Anyhow, yesterday I was in the Post Office to pick up a registered letter (I have learned that getting laid off involves tons of certified mail), when I noticed that the woman at the counter had a giant ink stain on her head. A dripping continent of ink. Gorbachev would have envied this inkblot. Given that postal workers work with ink pads and such, I figured she had had a mishap and thought I would be a nice person and tell her about it.
“Um, I’m sorry, but I think you have a little ink on your forehead.”
I saw her mentally roll her eyes at me. She replied flatly, “Religious holiday.”
Oh shit. It’s Hash Wednesday! “I’m so sorry,” I said, trying to recover, “I forgot all about Ash Wednesday.” Because I’m going to burn in the Bad Place. “My sister is Catholic,” I offered weakly in an attempt to redeem myself. At least I didn’t say Hash Wednesday?
I’m an asshole. Drink two shots.