Shake it like a polaroid picture ...

Last night I had my annual Shamrock Shake. I only get one a year, for reasons that I've long forgotten. It probably has something to do with how I absolutely have to pair it with a Filet O'Fish for optimal Catholic school nostalgia. And while I love that orange pre-fab slab of fish slathered in plastic cheese and doused in tartar sauce the consistency of curdled udder cream, the second one of the year always tastes like someone dared me to drink the water in a dirty goldfish bowl.

I try to make my annual Shammy (pet name) a super special event. This year I planned out the experience four days in advance and then made sure I thought about it every day. TWO DAYS TO GO! ... TODAY IS THE BIG DAY!

It tasted like lying in the confession booth because I didn't really do anything bad -- at least not anything I needed forgiveness for -- since my last confession. It tasted like the state basketball tournament, and first having my drivers license. It tasted like Studio Line Pumping Curls, over-sized sweaters, leggings and Bass ankle boots. It tasted like Trip Shakespeare and curfew.

See you next year, McDonalds.