There. I said it out loud to the whole world. Well, you all are a good chunk of my world any way.

I dislike St Patrick’s Day.

I know it is an unpopular sentiment and I’m OK with that.

No, a leprechaun didn’t kidnap and torture me and I wasn’t hurt by fairies as a child. And while I’m not at all adverse to dwelling in the land of make believe there is this thing I have about lying that makes me berserk.

Especially institutional lying.

The lie? There is no “Saint” Patrick. He was never canonized, and thus, is not a saint.

He was also not Irish.

See more lies about good old Patrick here.

Now, a white lie to keep from hurting a friend might not put you on my $hit list but a bucket of bald faced lies? Yup, that’ll do it.

Then there is the negative stereotype that Paddy (a derogatory term for the Irish) is a lazy good-for-nothing-drunk. I know a lot of hard working Irish folks, myself included. Irish folks who grew up with the side affects of alcoholism who never want to deal with that life again. Irish folks who have had a few drunk days in her life and might try it again if it didn’t make her feel so darn awful. Not a total prude but no drunk either.

There is quite a lot about Irish culture and heritage to celebrate but some dead dude who isn’t a son of Ireland and an excuse to get falling-down drunk isn’t the way to go about it, in my opinion.

But you know what they say, opinions are like belly buttons.

Everybody has one.