Half-way through his glass of green beer and half an hour after Amy had promised to be there, Phil's pager buzzed. At first, he wasn't sure -- maybe it was someone crowding him on the side, or one of the girls in the bar, already tipsey, being very friendly. But the buzzing continued until he reached down to shut it off.

The message was brief. "CNT MAK IT. GIV U ANSR 2MRO. HAV GOOD TIM. AMY" He sighed and guzzled the last of the beer. Green beer. Why would anyone want to drink green Budwiser, even if it was on St. Patrick's? Maybe a nice dark ale or stout, or...

A slap on his back pulled him back to reality. "Phil! How's it going?"

Phil turned to see a friend. Well, sort of a friend. A guy he knew, at least. "Oh. Okay."

"Just okay?"

"My date's standing me up." He waved his pager. "Shouldn't be suprised. She doesn't drink much. Doesn't like crowds. Homebody."

"But you're a party animal."

"Not really. But it IS St. Patrick's day. And drinking green beer is... well... the thing to do in Rhode Island on St. Patrick's Day."

"Everybody's Irish on St. Patricks. So why are you so glum? There are a lot of friendly girls here."

Phil held up his empty mug, trying to signal a waitress. "I proposed yesterday. She said she'd give me an answer tonight."

"Sounds like you just got your answer."

"Yeah," Phil said, putting down his mug. The so-called Irish band, the Sham Rocks, at the far end of the crowded room began their first riff. At least, the sign claimed that they were Irish, they sounded more like a "cover" band who wore green hats in lieu of actually learning real Irish music.

The music was worse than the green beer. Phil stopped trying to signal the waitress in the growing crowd and worked his way outside. There, he kicked the side of his car and climbed in. At first, he thought he'd just drive home and crawl into bed, but somewhere along the way, he found himself outside Amy's house.

In last few steps up to her door, Phil cycled rapidly between indignance at being stood up, curiosity as to why, and concern because of imagined emergencies that could have caused Amy to not show.

Amy opened the door and instantly threw her arms around Phil's neck. "You came!"

"Well. I couldn't just hang around a bar without you."

"So you'd rather be with me than with your drinking buddies on St. Patrick's Day. You don't mind a quiet evening in front of the fireplace with me." They weren't questions, they were conclusions. "In that case," Amy continued, "my answer is 'yes'."

"Yes?"

"Yes. I'd be happy to marry a man who knows when to come home and who likes Irish stew more than Irish beer."

When she kissed him, Phil knew that he was lucky that the band and the beer were so lousy.

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