25 May 2011
407
R. Linda:
Well, guess who I had coffee with this morning? Yup, Patrick. Oh yeah, it was quite the thing, filled with revelations that I don't know where to begin to tell it all to you. We had taken a break at the same time so when I came upon him in the alcove getting himself a cup, I naturally joined him. I was curious why he wanted to date an Irish girl after all the insinuations he wanted to date an American one. I suspected the thing with Debbie was he didn't like turning on the charm. He only did it to prove he could, but truly he isn't a born charmer. He told me he thought Debbie would be chattering on about Gucci purses, Manolo Blahnik shoes, but when she heard about the Celtic Tiger she'd go all misty-eyed on him. Well, she didn't do any of that as you know. Instead, she sat there trying to get information out of him and instead got the standings on the Irish footy teams, his fav dishes his Mam makes for him, and basically not much else. She found him BORING until he turned on the charm and "fooled" her as she said, into thinking he was all that when it was all an act!
I got it. I understood it and let it go. No American girl for him. Not with my help at least. So now I was wondering what the difference was between an American girl and an Irish one in his book. He had told Scotty he'd have stayed in Ireland if he wanted an Irish wife, but the Debbie experience wasn't what he had dreamed it would be and so, he had changed his mind. I know why I didn't marry an Irish woman, now I was curious why he would want to marry one.
Let me say the conversation was unusual because as Irishmen we have a code we do. We don't discuss women, but we do discuss footy. That's the rule, so this was quite a rare thing and I'll tell you not to get used to it, probably won't happen again. Anyway, here is how it went:
"You know wot got me about Irish women," I said, "dey have too many friends dey do. Seemed every time I wanted to go out to a flick or anywhere, we had everyone she knew joining us. It was like a moving circus. I'd arrive, she'd put on the coat, we'd step out the door, brother be coming up the walk and he'd be asked to join us and of course, he would, and he'd mobile phone his girl and she'd bring her brother and his girl and it went down the line like dat it did until it seemed very crowded."
He sat there looking at me like I was a nutter. He shook his head, "No, it isn't THAT, I mean to go to a footy game, the more the merrier ya know? No, it was the fake tan dey put on dat da smell would knock ya over. Not ta mention me Mam complainin' she was havin' a time o' it tryin' to wash out da orange stains on me shirt. Worse was me tryin' to explain what caused dose stains."
Was my turn to look at him like he was the nutter.
"Well, do ye ever get the incessant question, "What do ya do fer a livin'?" That was something that drove me up a pole. I'd be introduced to a nice Irish girl, or so I taught, but her focus wasn't on me, it was me wallet it was on. She would outright tell me if I wasn't a banker, or in investments (other den real estate) den she wasn't interested. I was like what happened to bein' interested in ME as a man, not a walking billfold?" I huffed.
He understood THAT he did. He nodded in agreement.
"Ye know Gabe you were tellin' me I need to dress up, and let me tell ya in Ireland we purposely don't because we can't keep up wit da womin. Dey dress in heels that make em' taller den us blokes, dey get the false eyelash ting goin so if yer lucky enough to git a kiss ye jump back tinkin' spiders have invaded yer face. Den da hair now, dey wear it like Amy Winehouse an it looks a rat nest it duz. AND, seemin taller in da high heels when combinin' it wit da hair dey seem three times taller den us! Dey come wit ya ta da pub all fancied up and den order a dirty beer. Ya have to laugh because all dat false sophistication, out da window!"
I laughed, I had to, I could imagine it along with the fake tan. Oh my.
"Well, speakin' a dat, I have trouble wit all the shoppin' dey do. I would have tickets for a show dat I taught me girl would be all about, but no, stop everything, she was goin' shoppin' and dat was dat, bossy ting she was. She and her friends (including me sainted sissy) would plan dere weekends on Monday and what shopping mall dey would spend dere weekend at. I mean it was obsessive. I'd end up stayin' home or drivin' around or sittin' in from of me telly because SHE was too busy shoppin'!"
He laughed at that. Told me his sister was like that as well, and any girl he'd meet they'd hit it off but still she'd leave him and hit the shops with her friends.
"But da ting dat really sticks in me gut be da constant askin' me "wots dat suppos ta mean dere, Patrick?" I mean every time I'd try fer a compliment or turn da "charm button" on as ye call it, I'd be looked at suspiciously like I be not tellin da truth or playin oop."
"Dats it!" I was cheered up to hear it wasn't only me this happened to. Yes, there is a huge degree of paranoia in Irish women. No wonder I didn't marry one. In me business of having irregular hours, I'd be accused of romancing some other lady, and like the one time, and this just gets me still, I had been just out of me work when this flower vendor came up to me and asked if I'd like to buy her last bouquet. Well, I didn't want to really, but I was in a good mood so I paid a small amount of euros and off I went. I gave them to me girl and she wanted to know, "Wot fer is dis here Gabriel, wot haf ya done now?" Here I was giving a sweet gesture and in turn, was accused of having done some terrible wrong. Oi!
"Well da worst of it be like Maureen says, goin ta da pub and yer wallet being drained dry fer all the drinks dey take. Like I say, dey get all fashioned up and den order three beers to me one and da whole evenin' goes dat way. By da end o' it da lady look has hit da ground, dey look like over madeup cleanin' womin and once da wallet is empty dey go after da pub keeper over why not dey can't have another shot? Git feisty dey do, an dey don't shut dere gobs, no dey go on and on and on. Drives me up a pole."
We both sat there nodding.
"Ya know what Gabe? I think I'll stick to bein' single. Dis datin' here and dere isn't fun it's werk!"
Gabe
Copyright © 2011 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
Well, guess who I had coffee with this morning? Yup, Patrick. Oh yeah, it was quite the thing, filled with revelations that I don't know where to begin to tell it all to you. We had taken a break at the same time so when I came upon him in the alcove getting himself a cup, I naturally joined him. I was curious why he wanted to date an Irish girl after all the insinuations he wanted to date an American one. I suspected the thing with Debbie was he didn't like turning on the charm. He only did it to prove he could, but truly he isn't a born charmer. He told me he thought Debbie would be chattering on about Gucci purses, Manolo Blahnik shoes, but when she heard about the Celtic Tiger she'd go all misty-eyed on him. Well, she didn't do any of that as you know. Instead, she sat there trying to get information out of him and instead got the standings on the Irish footy teams, his fav dishes his Mam makes for him, and basically not much else. She found him BORING until he turned on the charm and "fooled" her as she said, into thinking he was all that when it was all an act!
I got it. I understood it and let it go. No American girl for him. Not with my help at least. So now I was wondering what the difference was between an American girl and an Irish one in his book. He had told Scotty he'd have stayed in Ireland if he wanted an Irish wife, but the Debbie experience wasn't what he had dreamed it would be and so, he had changed his mind. I know why I didn't marry an Irish woman, now I was curious why he would want to marry one.
Let me say the conversation was unusual because as Irishmen we have a code we do. We don't discuss women, but we do discuss footy. That's the rule, so this was quite a rare thing and I'll tell you not to get used to it, probably won't happen again. Anyway, here is how it went:
"You know wot got me about Irish women," I said, "dey have too many friends dey do. Seemed every time I wanted to go out to a flick or anywhere, we had everyone she knew joining us. It was like a moving circus. I'd arrive, she'd put on the coat, we'd step out the door, brother be coming up the walk and he'd be asked to join us and of course, he would, and he'd mobile phone his girl and she'd bring her brother and his girl and it went down the line like dat it did until it seemed very crowded."
He sat there looking at me like I was a nutter. He shook his head, "No, it isn't THAT, I mean to go to a footy game, the more the merrier ya know? No, it was the fake tan dey put on dat da smell would knock ya over. Not ta mention me Mam complainin' she was havin' a time o' it tryin' to wash out da orange stains on me shirt. Worse was me tryin' to explain what caused dose stains."
Was my turn to look at him like he was the nutter.
"Well, do ye ever get the incessant question, "What do ya do fer a livin'?" That was something that drove me up a pole. I'd be introduced to a nice Irish girl, or so I taught, but her focus wasn't on me, it was me wallet it was on. She would outright tell me if I wasn't a banker, or in investments (other den real estate) den she wasn't interested. I was like what happened to bein' interested in ME as a man, not a walking billfold?" I huffed.
He understood THAT he did. He nodded in agreement.
"Ye know Gabe you were tellin' me I need to dress up, and let me tell ya in Ireland we purposely don't because we can't keep up wit da womin. Dey dress in heels that make em' taller den us blokes, dey get the false eyelash ting goin so if yer lucky enough to git a kiss ye jump back tinkin' spiders have invaded yer face. Den da hair now, dey wear it like Amy Winehouse an it looks a rat nest it duz. AND, seemin taller in da high heels when combinin' it wit da hair dey seem three times taller den us! Dey come wit ya ta da pub all fancied up and den order a dirty beer. Ya have to laugh because all dat false sophistication, out da window!"
I laughed, I had to, I could imagine it along with the fake tan. Oh my.
"Well, speakin' a dat, I have trouble wit all the shoppin' dey do. I would have tickets for a show dat I taught me girl would be all about, but no, stop everything, she was goin' shoppin' and dat was dat, bossy ting she was. She and her friends (including me sainted sissy) would plan dere weekends on Monday and what shopping mall dey would spend dere weekend at. I mean it was obsessive. I'd end up stayin' home or drivin' around or sittin' in from of me telly because SHE was too busy shoppin'!"
He laughed at that. Told me his sister was like that as well, and any girl he'd meet they'd hit it off but still she'd leave him and hit the shops with her friends.
"But da ting dat really sticks in me gut be da constant askin' me "wots dat suppos ta mean dere, Patrick?" I mean every time I'd try fer a compliment or turn da "charm button" on as ye call it, I'd be looked at suspiciously like I be not tellin da truth or playin oop."
"Dats it!" I was cheered up to hear it wasn't only me this happened to. Yes, there is a huge degree of paranoia in Irish women. No wonder I didn't marry one. In me business of having irregular hours, I'd be accused of romancing some other lady, and like the one time, and this just gets me still, I had been just out of me work when this flower vendor came up to me and asked if I'd like to buy her last bouquet. Well, I didn't want to really, but I was in a good mood so I paid a small amount of euros and off I went. I gave them to me girl and she wanted to know, "Wot fer is dis here Gabriel, wot haf ya done now?" Here I was giving a sweet gesture and in turn, was accused of having done some terrible wrong. Oi!
"Well da worst of it be like Maureen says, goin ta da pub and yer wallet being drained dry fer all the drinks dey take. Like I say, dey get all fashioned up and den order three beers to me one and da whole evenin' goes dat way. By da end o' it da lady look has hit da ground, dey look like over madeup cleanin' womin and once da wallet is empty dey go after da pub keeper over why not dey can't have another shot? Git feisty dey do, an dey don't shut dere gobs, no dey go on and on and on. Drives me up a pole."
We both sat there nodding.
"Ya know what Gabe? I think I'll stick to bein' single. Dis datin' here and dere isn't fun it's werk!"
Gabe
Copyright © 2011 All rights reserved
5 comments:
Irish Women = trouble, headaches, depletion of bank account, and craziness. I know I will get in trouble for this. Paranoia is another reason the whole lot of them should be committed. As to American women, scary lot that, and I haven't met a Carrie Bradshaw among them.
UH OH
WOW Lucky. As an IRISH AMERICAN woman I am offended.
OKAAAAY first of all, Carrie Bradshaw is a fictional character! I've heard the REAL person talk! If she didn't have someone telling her to breathe in, breathe out, she'd drop dead on the spot!LOL
fioner git oveah yaself ya noz dere aint no womun in da worldie can hold a candle 2 a Scottish womum hehee
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