Salute to Irish Princesses Present and Future...
Because I don't currently have access to Bridget's official contestant portrait (and princesses look cute even when sitting in a wash basket), here is Miss Bridget.  And in twenty years or so, our next contender, Miss Lilyanne.  Here mother is Irish; her father...isn't.

When I have time to collect my thoughts, I must really discuss my dismay with my fellow travelers on the train out of the city on Saturday.  (If I had known it was St. Patrick's Parade Day I would have made drastically different arrangements.)  Suffice it to say that I don't always use the nicest language.  No, not around the children.  In appropriate circumstances.  Rarely, very rarely, at work.  If being alone at the office and catching one's finger in the drawer of the fireproof cabinet doesn't allow one some linguistic latitude, I don't what does. So, dear Metra riders, if you have offended me, you are really in a bad way.  Bad.  With a capital  B.  And that P, V and T.  Which stands for profane, vulgar, and tirade.  The tirade you barely escaped.