I enjoy a frosty Shamrock Shake.
A lot of people can’t stand them. I understand.
My own affection for the annual green, toothpasty McDonald’s concoction is more about the time of year and memories than the shake itself. Even I have to admit, it’s no great shake.
Still, I’m drinking one as I write this. Mmmm. Minty.
As a kid, the Shamrock Shake meant March, and March meant getting out of school for a trip to Des Moines for the Girls State Basketball Tournament. My dad coached teams to state in 76, 77, 78 and 79, but even when he didn’t have a team in the tourney, we’d road trip to catch some games.
Usually, McDonalds was part of the mix, along with a shopping mall stop and of course some basketball at good old cavernous Vet’s Auditorium– all things a small small-towner looked forward to every year. The Shamrock Shake was a must-have ingredient.
(Sip) The taste reminds me of those trips. And even now, when I should know better, I can’t resist. I guess I just get caught up in the miracles of the season — warmer weather, cheap Guinness, corned beef, the NCAA basketball tournament, that satisfying ‘pop’ when the sunroof opens for the first time in months, spring training baseball etc.
Sure, March can be cold and wet and miserable. And snow can still pile up to your ides. But at least there’s hope, and brackets to fill out.
So raise your Shamrocks high. I would, but my cup is now empty.