My brother-in-law is Irish. We were all staying at my mother-in-law’s house on a multi-family visit. So after being in the house for several days with kids and women, I decided to take him to a bar that I used to frequent in the neighborhood I grew up in.
The place used to be called Morrisey’s but was not called Healey’s. It turns out that the owner was a grade-school buddy and we couldn’t buy a drink.
It was July and there were St. Patrick’s Day decorations everywhere, Irish flags hung everywhere, as Irish music blared from the juke box.
My brother-in-law remarked, “This must be an Irish bar.”
“What gives you that idea?” I asked almost sarcastically.
He pointed behind the bar and said, “It’s the picture of John Kennedy and the Pope.” That made it authentic.
My brother-in-law is Irish. We were all staying at my mother-in-law’s house on a multi-family visit. So after being in the house for several days with kids and women, I decided to take him to a bar that I used to frequent in the neighborhood I grew up in.
The place used to be called Morrisey’s but was not called Healey’s. It turns out that the owner was a grade-school buddy and we couldn’t buy a drink.
It was July and there were St. Patrick’s Day decorations everywhere, Irish flags hung everywhere, as Irish music blared from the juke box.
My brother-in-law remarked, “This must be an Irish bar.”
“What gives you that idea?” I asked almost sarcastically.
He pointed behind the bar and said, “It’s the picture of John Kennedy and the Pope.” That made it authentic.