It makes me sad that many people don't take St Patrick's Day seriously. Some will prance about in fatuous green socks, mention some highly unlikely Irish ancestor and then consider their obligations to the thing met. Not me. I'm a messenger. From God, probably. And if I don't explain this holiday then millions will be spending Saturday drunk for no reason at all. So here we go ...
Back when I was poor and unnourished, I lived with a guy who used to drink my milk while I slept. As a comparative ratio, based on my assets at the time, this equated roughly to stealing my car. But I never put a note on anything in the fridge. Even to me, who once suffered, a note on milk is an instruction to steal.
Tradition dictates that I post an older card on Wednesdays, and today's card explores the same theme as yesterday's - that is: miscommunication. BTW, I've given a lot of thought to the topic of miscommunication and have decided I'm in favor of it overall. It also keeps me in business.