It’s February 29. I’m sure you’re all busy celebrating with the traditional construction of tepee’s made from soft caramel (which takes soooooo long to make, am I right guys?) and the sacrifice of your neighbors’ used cotton swabs to our lesser-known deity, Jeff Christ, little brother of the Lord. Even so, I would be remiss not to say something about this most sacred of days.
First, let’s say happy birthday in our prettiest voices to those born on leap-days…
Personally, I prefer the term bissextile to leap-year – the former is so much more arousing!
It’s traditional in Britain and Ireland for women to propose marriages on leap years, but what many don’t know is this stems from a colossal misunderstanding, when in 5th century Ireland the super-popular and all-around hunk St. Patrick decreed that all women be allowed to oppose carriages and instead opt for nice, healthy walks. (A similar communication breakdown was made when St. Patrick reported that he’d cast the Jakes out of Ireland – he hated those dudes. By all accounts, St. Patrick wasn’t good at enunciating but it was forgivable when you saw how ripped his abs were.)
A 1288 law by Queen Margaret of Scotland (then age five and living in Norway – obviously a good person to turn to for laws governing romance), required that fines be levied if a marriage proposal was refused by the man; compensation was deemed to be a pair of leather gloves, a single rose, £1 and free Wi-Fi service until the next leap year, which, while showing astonishing prescience on behalf of the young Royal, did little good for any lady born for the next 704 years.
Now then, there’s frogs to be tickled and nipples to pinch – I don’t want to hinder your celebrations a moment more – Happy Leap Day!
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