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A St. Patrick’s Day Dilemma
Good Girls Wear Green – or Else
The day started normally enough. The March wind was whipping, but you could tell Spring was just around the corner. We were running late, as usual. I got the kids ready, threw on my green argyle sweater, kissed my husband bye and then headed out the door to work.
“That’s a nice top,” a co-worker said. “You should’ve saved it for tomorrow.”
I didn’t know what she meant until I looked at the calendar: March 16. I’d need something green all over again tomorrow for St. Patrick’s Day. No big deal, I thought. I’d find something in my closet.
Once I got home, I put off making dinner and walked right upstairs. Sure, there were more important things going on in the world; the news on TV promised that the planet was hurtling toward disaster. In the meantime, though, I still needed a St. Patrick’s Day outfit.
I got no co-operation from my clothes. My closet was filled with black dresses, black pants and white shirts. Nothing green in sight. OK, so my wardrobe could use some color. We’d worry about that another time. I checked my dresser drawers. Green shirts or pants? Nope, nothing even olive or taupe. No green socks, either. A flutter of panic rose in my chest. Should I hit the mall?
“Just don’t wear green tomorrow,” my husband said. “No big deal.”
“No big deal? You don’t understand,” I said. “Only the girls who want to get pinched ‘forget’ to wear green on St. Patrick’s Day.”
That was my seventh-grade self talking. I remembered those girls from junior high. (We called it junior high back then, not middle school.) They wore tight jeans and anything but green on March 17, which made them very popular. Boys would pinch them on the arm, run away and call out, “You’re not wearing green!” These were the girls who wore heavy metal T-shirts and the biggest hair. How I envied and hated them all at the same time. Surely, those girls had all turned into strippers, right? No way was I one of them. Never mind that I was adhering to a “rule” that hadn’t been in effect since Reagan was president. Never mind that I worked in an office full of professional women, many of whom held PhDs. I was still worried about someone pinching me.
“I had no idea you had such strong feelings about St. Patty’s Day,” my husband said. Then, concern filled his brow. “What are the kids gonna wear tomorrow?”
Oh no, my kids! My son was a seventh-grader. I explained to him why he would be neither a pincher nor a pinchee. My poor daughter was only a toddler. She’d get dubbed the “racy girl” at preschool without some wearin’ o’ the green. Luckily, my son found an old T-shirt that would work. For my daughter, I cut the tags off what would be her Easter dress in a few weeks. Whew!
But, what about me? I dug through my summer and winter clothes. I even opened up a box marked “maternity clothes.” No. Green. Anywhere.
What in the world did I wear for St. Patrick’s Day last year? Then, I remembered. It was right under my nose all along. Inside my jewelry box on top of my dresser, a necklace made of turquoise sat there waiting. The beads aren’t the usual blue turquoise; they’re green. St. Patrick’s Day green. Pay dirt! My own little world was no longer hurtling toward disaster. My seventh-grade self breathed a sigh of relief and smirked.
Anna Seip is an editor, wife and mom who is still getting over the trauma of seventh grade.
