March 19 2006

Well gang, as one might expect, the Murphy’s had their annual St. Patrick’s Day party last night.
As usual, it started out with excellent traditional food, generous servings of Harp Lager and Guinness Stout with the occasional wee dram of Irish Whisky, and the warmth and affection that abounds when a crowd of Irish men and women gather around a holiday table.
But as the luck of the Irish would have it, at some point in the evening a lady innocently remarked that another woman was wearing a lovely dress, but wouldn’t it have been more appropriate had it been kelly green?
The lady wearing the dress, turned to she who had made the innocent remark, and sweetly informed her that her dress was indeed kelly green. And that perhaps the lady who had made the remark should have, among other things, her eyes examined "And just what is that supposed to mean?" came back the reply.
The husbands of the lassies saw where this was headed, and moved in to calm things down.
"The fact that it’s green is more important than the exact shade of green." Said one.
"Eye doctors will tell you that shades of green are more apt to be perceived differently by different people than any other color." Said the other.
Suddenly, everyone at the party was discussing the color kelly green. And who was, and who wasn’t, wearing it.
Now, there were a couple of people at the party who were clinically color-blind, but like a one armed man at a Donny brook, they weren’t going to be left out of a healthy difference of opinion.
Eventually words became inadequate to the task at hand, and finally the first punch was thrown. It was followed by what was described by one party-goer as spontaneous combustion.
The police when they arrived, got everything under control almost at once, and mentioned to Mr. Murphy that they were beginning to think that they might not be invited over this year.
"Thanks for coming over boys." Said Mr. Murphy. "The Misses is making up some food plates for the boys at the station house. The corned beef is really something special the year."
Mr. Murphy cupped his hand over his mouth, "If you were to pick up a bottle or two of Irish whisky on the way out, I’m sure no one would take notice."
And no one did take notice either.
As the police cars drove off, with no prisoners, Mr. Murphy followed them out of sight.
He turned to the misses. "Did those police cars look like they were painted kelly green to you?" he asked.
The misses looked up at him. "Yes," she said, "I believe they were."

Till next week
Helga Biermeister
Secretary