Today is March 17. Just another holiday during which Americans can drink themselves into a stupor. As for me, the stupor usually comes halfway through the second glass. Is my low tolerance a blessing in a well-dressed disguise? Perhaps. But I've learned to live with it. I'm a cheap date. Or just cheap.
Come 4pm this afternoon, while my coworkers break open some bottles of Guinness, I shall indulge in a hearty glass of apple juice while jonesing for some homestyle corned beef and cabbage.