Kiss Me, I’m Not Irish But It’s Been So Long Since I’ve Felt The Touch Of Another
This St. Patrick’s Day, millions of people around the world will celebrate the death of Saint Patrick, the most famous patron saint of Ireland. On March 17th, “Irish” folks around the world will don green clothing, McDonald’s will go balls out in shamrock shake marketing, and people will begin wearing buttons and stickers with the phrase “Kiss Me, I’m Irish” written on them.
But why should only Irish people have the chance to get an epic smooch on a spring afternoon? There’s lots of us out here that may not be Irish but are still single and ready to engage in a tongue fight. This week, the Doily Allergen attempted to remedy this by asking strangers to give us a little snog despite our lack of Irish heritage. We hit the streets of Iowa City with one goal in mind: get a consensual canoodle before the sun set on the greenest day of the year.
We started where most people would start when trying to find someone to kiss: Van Allen Hall. We figured that in the whole of Van Allen, there’s gotta be one astro-nerd desperate to osculate. Unfortunately, since it was spring break, we found the building devoid of hot college-aged singles, but we did find a few TAs and professors roaming around. We asked many of them if they’d be interested in smacking faces with us, but most of them said something along the lines of “leave me alone, I’m doing space shit,” so that was a bust.
But we refused to take no for an answer. Unless of course, it was to indicate a lack of consent, in which case we would hastily accept those boundaries. Anyway, we decided to roam the rest of campus and see if anyone around town would be interested in necking with the likes of us.
But all we could see around Iowa City were a bunch of sweet-looking old couples out to brunch for St. Paddy’s day. We thought all hope was lost, until we spied one of our writer’s grandmothers, Ms. Makenna O’Connery. Her husband had died from a heart attack not 6 months prior, so she was fair game. We quickly approached and asked if she’d be willing to give each of us a peck on the cheek, just for any form of human contact. But she said that she doesn’t kiss journalists, spat on our feet, and shuffled away.
Defeated and more alone than ever, the Doily Allergen writing staff made our way to the T. Anne Cleary Walkway. When we suddenly remembered the brain rock! Of course! We could all suck face with the brain rock, and it couldn’t even get away. Was it desperate and sad? Yes. But would we finally get some action after a long day of chastity? Also yes. We ran excitedly towards the large rock, only to discover that it was moving along the ground at a breakneck pace. We couldn’t believe it! We always knew there was a chance the brain rock could be alive, but never before had we seen it move so fast.
As we watched the brain rock slide away down the hill, we sat in disbelief and disarray. We tried all day and we couldn’t get anyone in town to go to first base with us. We heaved a collective sigh, then immediately realized: hey, what if we all kissed each other? The idea had never struck us before, but here we were, a bunch of lonely writers sitting on the T. Anne Cleary Walkway, what better place to go at it? And that’s how the entirety of the Doily Allergen staff spent the afternoon cleaning each other’s lips. Happy St. Patrick’s Day everyone! See you next year!