(Don’t) Pinch Me, I’m Irish

By Avalon Kelly

You wake up for a normal day at school and get dressed as you normally would, picking out a plain blue t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers.  After eating a quick breakfast, brushing your teeth, and putting your hair up, you dash out the door just in time to get to school by 8:30.

As you fast-walk across the quad to your first period class, a strange phenomenon begins.  A freshman—who do they think they are?—runs up and pinches you.  Right on the arm.  Ouch, that kinda hurt.  But you keep walking, class starts in 30 seconds.  You cross the doorstep and—Ouch!  What was that?  Another pinch!  Swiveling around, you see it was your best friend.  “What was that for?” you ask, irritated.  “Why aren’t you wearing any green?” your friend shoots back.  The realization dawns on you.  It is St. Patrick’s Day.  How could I forget?  Regret.  Horror.  A quick self-esteem check.  You experience all these and more.  But it is not enough.

As you walk from class to class, and attempt to relax during break and lunch, a bruise on your arm begins to form.  All your friends find it hilarious to incessantly pinch you.  Pinch.  Pinch.  Pinch.  Their maniacal laughter rings in your ears.  You are not entertained with their childish games.

Finally, you return home, sulking at the exhausting day, yet rejoicing in your newfound freedom from the relentless pinches.  But there is no escape.  Your sibling runs up and teases, “You’re not wearing any green!  I can pinch you!”  You need to run, escape, hide.  Pain shoots through your arm as you make your way to your room, where no one can bother you.  After shutting the door, you are finally (truly and completely) safe from the terrible pinches. The bottom line is, pinching is a terrible tradition which only brings pain and suffering. So don’t pinch me, I’m Irish.