I realize just in writing this how entirely lucky I am: I spent St. Patrick’s Day in Ireland in 2010.
However, while I was lucky to be there, I did have one tiny problem during my five days in this charming country (Dublin and Galway). My liver hated me. Despised me. Was ready to fall out of my body, shrivel up and die.
I attribute this to the copious amount of drinking I did with fellow blogger, Abbey, and her friends. Between a raging first night in Temple Bar to being one of the official whisky tasters at Jameson, to the Guinness tour and the perfect pint, to the random drinking thanks to being a stubborn Irish lock on St. Patrick’s Day Eve to the grand daddy of them all, St. Patrick’s Day, by the time I left Ireland, I didn’t think I could drink ever again. That lasted about 22 hours.