120

Just 120 days stand between you and your favorite Irish Fest, the typical gestation period of probably some animal or another, I don't know*. But 120 is nothing, man. That will go by so fast it'll make your shillelagh spin. You need to commence preperating.

Have you booked your discounted hotel room, which gets you your free tickets?
Have you signed up to volunteer, which gets you free tickets?

Neither? Really? You have two jobs to do and you've done neither? You know how many things I have to do in the next 120 days? 430,000. About. So I think you can handle your two, Slacker McLazybones. But perhaps I 'm being unkind. Maybe you're tired. Maybe you're sleep deprived because you have a 5 and a half week old baby in your house who can't seem to figure out the whole day/night wake/sleep dichotomy, no matter how many times you explain it with helpful charts and timetables. That could be your situation, I don't know**. I should be more gentle with my reminders.

Sweethearts, please. When you get a minute, sign up to volunteer today. And I promise, it will only take a minute. And don't forget, we've arranged a great deal on a hotel for you. I'd hate to see someone as nice as you miss out, and it won't last forever. When you get a chance, okay? Thanks, sugar. Kiss kiss***.

*Okay, it's a pig.
**Or maybe that's me.
***If you're a dude, read that as "hearty handshake, hearty handshake."