Tag Archives: bagpipes

Irish for a Day

15 Mar

 

A couple of years ago, the hubs started learning how to play the bag pipes. At the time he started, the vision of kilts, kilt checks and my son running around in his underwear attempting to play on his dad’s precious practice chanter were not at all a reality or something I thought could be a reality. Nor did I realize what being a “member of the band” would be around St. Patrick’s Day. It’s been a parade kind of couple of weeks and I’m excited to see him blowing like a champ!  (Yep, I went there!)

So my experience at this weekend’s local St. Patrick’s Day parade was my first ever.  I’m Italian (Nutalian as my son puts it) and I’m not a big parade person. I had no idea what was in store for me while trying to support the man of the house.

The kids were so excited to see their Dad in action. Little did I know that “in action” meant chicks stopping him left and right for picture within the first 10 minutes. And you know what else it meant. Lots of drunk people.

We finally left our celebrity to line up and wait for his big entrance. The parade was all sorts of amazing. Beaded necklaces, “gold” coins and candy flying everywhere.  We got to see him up first which was fun. In the spirit of how reserved he is the following text convo ensued between me and a friend:

Me: I should totally follow up his fanfare by flicking some panties on his bag pipes. He’d die, I’m sure. Lol

Her: I dare you!

Me: I so wish I had some handy. Damn it!!!!

So now I’m regretting not thinking of this idea earlier at home when I could have stuffed a pair in my pocket. But I’m also surrounded by a bunch of adults who act like they’ve never seen beaded necklaces or candy.  I’m telling you these people were diving for necklaces. This shit was cut throat. They didn’t even seem that drunk.  Some dude actually tried to fight my son for a necklace. And there were plenty to go around so….he needed a beating. I was sure that if there weren’t children around people were going to start showing their goods for it. Next text:

Hubs: Ok I’m done and we’ll be in front of the bar.

Me: I really want to be in front of the bar. The bead diving here is getting ridiculous. I’m sure Jax is going to get to see some boob shots soon. Not too shabby for 6?

So we did catch the mother load in terms of beads. The kids were happy. I looked like I worked really hard to get those beads, and I didn’t even have to put “the girls” to work. Although I may have “slightly” elbowed the dick who fought my son for a beaded necklace. It was the same dude who caught 6 beer coozies at once and stuffed them all into his back pocket like a crazy person. I had no idea it was about to get crazier!

The plan afterward was that the band was to play at this bar. My daughter was already showing signs of her hangry and my son…he’s just ready to be social. All of a sudden the crowd around the bar didn’t feel so breathable.  I started talking to one of the band mates. We were talking (or yelling loudly in each other’s ears) about kilt checks and whether my husband wore drawers underneath. So I just looked at him wide eyed…

Me: It can’t be true that you are all walking around here free ballin’ it.

Him: really?  Check it out…(lifts kilt and bares it all…)

Me: Well then. I feel fully initiated into the club. 😳

By now my daughter is done with the drunk people. The boy wants to dance a jig of some sort but there’s no room. As the hubs line up to play, I run to get pizza to stuff into my hungry 10 year old’s mouth…but she starts to cry. Cause there’s no where to eat and she’s tired and hot and hungry and there’s sweaty drunk people around her. So one hysterical kid, a crazed dancing son and a tired mom holding a pizza box in the middle of the a drunk crowd. Before you know it one drunk chick is trying to comfort her and the other one lifts Jax up and starts dancing and pointing screaming “look at yer daddy! He’s over there!” And of course she’s pointing to the wrong guy. Didn’t matter because Jax was having the time of his life with this brand new cleavage he had acquired. My daughter’s now sobbing in the middle of a bazillion bagpipe  players and I stand there like an asshole holding up a pizza box praying for Calgon to take me away.  And let me just tell you being an Italian holding up a f*cking pizza box in the middle of an Irish festival…not popular. It was quite the scene.  I felt bad. I totally didn’t see my husband even play…but he knew we were there somewhere.

We were officially done. At least I was. My daughter was. Jax was ready to party all night long.  I didn’t know I’d have to pack a shank in my panties in order to go to a parade for crying out loud! But after all was said and done, the kids did admit they had a good time, I was proud, and he was happy.  And no one died!

Funny thing is, I loathed the bagpipes before. They were a symbol of sadness and only had I heard them at Police Officers’ funerals. But today, holding a crying ten year old, and a pizza box…I changed my mind. (Shhhhh… Don’t tell him I said that!)

Until next time…

DP Babbles

 

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