You are having a grand old time, dancing a jig with the girl wearing Aaron the Bra. She's gotten into the spirit of things, and is dancing with her blouse open to show off her assets.
You notice a short heavy set woman carrying a crock pot by the door. She looks agitated.
"Aiden, take my place with the fair colleen. I 'ave another guest to attend to-" and you're gone lickety split.
You sort of notice that Aiden seems taller relative to you, and you notice the lintels on the doors seem to be moving higher. Nah, must be your imagination.
"Top of the night to you, you lovely lady, I'm your host Sean, how me I help you?"
"Oh, I'm Aaron's mother - Mrs. Levy. Aaron always calls me before he goes to bed, and when it got to be after 1:30 in the morning, I called him, and -" she looks at the clock on the wall it says 11:30, and she continues as she checks her own watch, "I thought he might be sick, so I - hm, I must've misread my watch? It's only 11:30?" she asks uncertainly.
"What's in the crock?" you ask rubbing your hands. For some reason a crock holds a great deal of interest to you. It also allows you to change the subject.
"Homemade chicken soup, " she says, "I thought if he was feeling poorly, it might help. You know he's got a test tomorrow? Do you know where he is?"
"Aaron? Last time I saw him he was -er, embracing a girl dancing over-" you point in Aiden and the colleen's general direction. You mutter, "Who brings chicken soup to a St. Paddy's Day fling?" You shake your head.
"Is she Jewish?" the mother asks.
"Huh?" you raise an eyebrow, and reply, "An Irish Jew? Surely, every fine soul is Irish on St. Paddy's Day," you pinch her cheek and the electricity sparks.
Her dress now has green threads shimmering in it, and she chuckles, "Sure'n ye'er righ', Sean. Now where should I put the Irish Stew, I've got here?" She asks.
"We've got all the hot food in the kitchen over nigh," you say pointing, "My dear Mrs. McCree."
She chuckles, blushes and joins the party. Either she's forgotten Aaron, or more likely assumes he's having fun at the party, and she'll see him soon enough.
The colleen wearing Aaron spins and her bra brushes Mrs. Levy/McCree's face, as Aiden pulls her back to him.
Mrs. McCree is momentarily startled, but heads to the kitchen. More people keep arriving.
"Hey, I thought your party would be winding down," said Bryce, "We closed down the Dubliner at 2, but thought we might get a nightcap here?" He seems surprised, "Guess we should've gotten here sooner. This party looks more fun. Bit crowded though."
"Grab ye'rselves' a pint or two, and no worries, we're overflowing next door into Erin's flat," you say snapping your fingers, as Bryce and his two dozen frat brothers squeeze through the door. A door opens into your neighbor's apartment where your bookcase used to be. No one notices the change, but people do start spilling into Aaron's former apartment, which is now bedecked in St. Patrick's Day decorations.
"Now, that's better. And we now have an extra bathroom, which reminds me," you say to yourself setting down the tankard you just drained, and heading into Aaron's bathroom.
You frown his toilet is a lot taller than yours, as you relieve your swollen bladder. You flush your green urine (must be the green beer dye). And go to wash your hands. You glance at the mirrored medicine cabinet above your head. Aaron's not that much taller. You climb up on the sink, and look in the glass.
A leprechaun stares back. You laugh, and fall backwards, but you flip and land on your feet.
"Hahahhaha, tis some Paddy's day magic no doubt. Will prolly wear off on the morrow. Now to eat, drink and make merry!" you seem unfazed by the revelation, and as you exit Aaron's bathroom, you notice that his apartment already seems crowded. Seems the frat boys have been busy using their cell phones to call buddies and teammates, and the other tenants of your dorm have been coming up to complain, but end up joining the party. You snap your fingers, and the spark, and another doorway opens to the next lodger's flat. It's not long before the entire building is green, and the party's raging in all the rooms on every floor. At the campus police station, the bartender who was still serving after 2:30 am notices their clock, which has just ticked backwards past 2.
He says, "Now sergeant will you make these fellows let me go, and I won't press charges."
"You won't press charges, O'Malley? You know that every bar in town has to close by 2 am, and yet my officers caught you selling beer nearly an hour later?" the booking sergeant says.
"I told them their watches were fast!" you say pointing at the clock which reads 1:52 am now.
The sergeant checks his watch, and it concurs.
"Oh, sorry, Mr. O'Malley, guess daylight savings got the better of them. Of course, you can go," the sergeant says.
"Sarge? What are you-" says Rodrigues, one of the arresting officers.
"Saving your badge, bucko," he says pointing at the clock, "Get yourselves new watches, ones that keep better time." He held out his wrist also displaying that the time was not yet 2 am.
Rodrigues frowned, as he looked at his watch, he opened his mouth to argue, but his watch also said it wasn't two yet. Had he misread it earlier?
Mr. O'Malley's bar was jam-packed in no time, in fact, there was a line outside when he got back. Truly time was out of whack, but none noticed. The clock said it was half past 11 now.
Purple shamrock flowers were blossoming in ev'ry yard, park and garden, as the magic of the St. Patrick's Day party spread, and the party spilled out of the dormitory and on to the campus. The next dorm, and a nearby frat house were taken over. as live bands formed playing fiddles, tin-whistles, bagpipes, accordions and guitars, as the party grew and grew. Everyone seemed to be wearing green. Even in the police station, Officer Rodrigues, whose ancestors he now remembered came to Ireland with the Spanish Armada, adjusted his dark green police uniform, and badge emblazoned "Garda".