We, the Irish, apologize for boiling all kinds of things, tossing in potatoes and calling it stew, shepherd's pie and good for you in any way.
We, apologize for leprechauns, unicorns, Daniel Day Lewis and anything else that only exists in our fertile imaginations.
We apologize for pennywhistles, bagpipes, Bono and any other shrill instruments that I don't ever want to hear again. That goes double for any song that yells out "Hey, Ho " or sounds like it was written by a third grader with a limited vocabulary. Hey, ho, hey ho, it's off the charts you go. Cursed be The Lumineers and Mumford and Sons. They aren't even Irish.
We apologize for the Kennedys because we know they won't do it on their own.
We apologize for Flogging Molly, The Fighting Irish, Dropkicking Murphy, Leghumping Enya and any supposed acts of aggression that somehow involve us or a distant cousin on the side of my dear Irish mother.
We apologize for all celtic music specials on PBS involving those sisters that look like they've never blinked in their life.
We apologize for James Joyce, James Galway, Jamisons and any other James that has led you astray. While we're at it, we apologize for our luck and irish charm, which is always magically delicious, like the sole of an old stinky running shoe. I digress.
We apologize for pretty much anything that involves damaged property, inappropriate wedding toasts, and that time we did that one thing to your front door and blamed it on that other guy who lives down the street even though he played his part in the whole evening going south, like every episode of Shameless or a second date with my sister, Colleen.
That last one is from me and my honest Irish setter heart.
We hope you accept our apology and know that we plan on changing our ways if you let us keep our chewy toys and that doll without the head. A good day to you, and may the good lord take a liking to you and keep you knee deep in slobbery old steak bones, claddagh rings, and Irish oatmeal.