22 May 2011
404
R. Linda:
I have told you about Scott my Irish American co-worker and how Maureen and I tried to fix him up with her sister Rose, and what a disaster that was. Well, as if that wasn't bad enough, I have another laddie who be fresh from the boat (ok airplane) and he be here to make his fortune and find himself a wife, not necessarily in that order. So I learned this from a sarcastic Scott who was telling me about him and laughing his fool arse off that it just wasn't going to happen -- either dream. Well, I find Scott abrasive and that just got to me, for him to put down a fellow Irishman, well R. Linda, I was near fighting mad I was. Then I saw the subject of his disdain, and thought, hum, better looking than Scott and all the ladies' heads turned when this newbie passed by. He was oblivious though, but I saw right off we had a jealous Scott. Scotty felt displaced and he didn't like it. And that made me feel GOOD.
So I got it into me head to befriend the man after a conversation I had with Maureen. His name be Patrick Daugherty and he be a good lookin' fella from the old sod. His age, I'd guess be around 34, or 35 maybe and he has light blue eyes and dark hair, so I know that be a combo most girls like. The eyes by the bye are fringed with very long lashes which give him that smokey look that me wife, for one, and me friend Maureen for another, melt over. Maureen even told me if she wasn't STILL trying to work things out with the ex-fiancee she'd be inclined to give Patrick a run for his . . . pennies but she had one Irishman on her hands and wasn't inclined to try another. I would have suggested Rose as a possible partner, but Rose doesn't want an Irishman (too poor and shiftless says she) and Patrick had told Scott if he wanted an Irish woman he would have stayed in Ireland. So that settles that.
It all went pear-shaped when I told Maureen what Scott said and it caught in her craw as well, so we were united and determined to fix this guy up. Yes, we were. I was to take care of him, and Maureen to find a nice, eligible young lady who would like to date a foreigner as she put it.
"No, no, ye can't say 'Hey I got a foreigner for you to date,' how would dat sound?" I said as we discussed this covertly in the lunchroom.
"Well, he is." She countered.
"I know he is, but ye can't do dat. Makes him sound like he's this broken English-speaking bloke with bad hair and shabby clothes."
"Ack! 'ave ya seen em'?" She asked me throwing up her hands.
"Wot? Wot are you saying?" I was instantly alarmed.
"Well, he's not like dat Italian Enzo, but he's . . . well he's . . ."
She had a nasty look on her face and was waving her hands around (uh . . . like an Italian!) trying to find the proper descriptive word, but she gave up. THIS put me alarm into panic mode. I had already talked him up to a girl Maureen suggested named Anne Shields who worked in copy. She was just the girl Scott wanted to date, well everyone wanted to date, but Maureen knew better than I and I thought what a coup if I could fix her up with Patrick, but now something was wrong with Patrick. With this hesitation on Maureen's part, I wasn't so sure to proceed or give it up. Now what was I supposed to do? I had already put a clue in Anne's head that there was a new guy in town who was better than anything else in trousers who worked at the paper. I threw my hands up too.
"Alright dere Maureen, I 'aven't seen da boyo but at a short distance and he looked alright to me. What's wrong wit 'em, all looks and no brains?"
"Em . . . no, I tink da brains are dere it's da common sense be missing." She mused.
"I don't know wot you mean, like he forgets to use an umbrella when it rains, he wears shoes and forgets his socks? Wot?" I was puzzled.
"Uh . . . well no not exactly dat but he's uh . . . well he's typical. Dere I said it."
I sat there looking at her expecting a bit more, but she sipped her coffee and shrugged. Typical? What the hell is typical and what was she trying to communicate?
"Typical how? I mean am I typical?"
She looked at me over her cup considering and I knew yes I was considered 'typical' whatever that meant by what she wasn't saying, the look in her eyes said it all. I sighed and shook me head. I was thinking what was the greatest Irish fault I had so I said to her, "So, you're tellin' me he's not one for yard work?"
She laughed she did and shook her head.
"No, I don't know dat about him. I'm just sayin' he lacks da dating savvy dat moost Irishmen doo. I mean ya hear aboot the charmers a dat sort, but coom on Gabe, dey be far a few between. Moost of ya are clueless how ta romance a girl, and ye doo sooch a bad job o' it, dat's why moost of ye stay single an married ta da bottle, an if ya could marry ya Mam, moost of ya would if ya could git away wit it."
Wow! I was insulted I was. The effrontery. I leaned me face into the palm of me hand looking at her wishing I was deaf and hadn't heard that miserable analogy of a 'typical Irishman'.
"Ok look, you take em' and git em' all fixed ta date Anne an I'll prepare Anne fer . . . " She stopped as if the thought wasn't coming.
"FOR?" I was impatient with her now. "FOR WOT?"
"Uh . . . a date wit a nice Irish gent who . . . be fresh off da plane an . . . hopefully isn't attached ta is' Mammy! Dere I said it." She looked at me with great triumph.
I could have taken that personally but I had what looked like a hard job ahead of me. I didn't know how I was supposed to do this and prove Scott wrong simultaneously.
"Okay listen to me Maureen, you do wot you can wit Anne and I'll get to know da lad a wee bit and put out feelers if he's even interested in our bird . . . instead of his mam," I sighed, "and if he be, I'll turn meself inside out to get him passed a first date!"
We pinkie swore we'd give this a go and went our separate ways, each of us in deep thought.
I did get to take Patrick under me wing and we became good friends and I do indeed think he's a good catch. He just needs a wee bit of polish (ok a lot of polish), supervision (he has an unrealistic view of American women), and a lesson on the differences between Irish girls and American girls and how to keep from going crazy dating an American one. I have been feeding him for the past month pointers on dating an American. I mean I married one, so I feel I be qualified to give advice I do.
But a few days ago, I told Maureen we needed a test date before we introduced the two to a real date because I was concerned I am, that he's not ready. So I did point out to Patrick, Miss Shields and he was near salivating over her and I said I'd do the honours but first we had to make sure he could handle an American date. He was taken aback, what was I talking about? When he gave me that, I knew, as did Maureen, we had trouble on our hands big time. So we needed to find an American girl who would step up to the plate and give us a blow-by-blow of what Patrick needed to improve on to be fit to date an American.
Now before you go off on me, let me say American women are not like Irish women, nor French, nor British, nor German, etc., they are a different kind of woman entirely. They can be bossy, and mouthy, they like nice things, they expect nice things, they want a say in where the date is to take place, they dress up and well, basically a date has to always be special and about them. They don't want to hear about Mam, conditions back home, and how the poor bloke be scraping together a salary just barely. Oh yes, you know this be true!
So I told Tonya my dilemma and squirmed around until I came flat out and asked her to help Maureen and meself because so far Patrick was turning out to be not datable in the American sense of the word and I just had to prove Scotty boy wrong.
"So whatcha need Gabe?" She said straight out.
"Well, would ye consider we borrow yer friend Debbie just fer an evenin' out? Nothin' more den a platonic date to do some research on. You and I will double wit dem to make it comfortable and actually to see wot needs tweaking." I tried the puppy dog look.
"Tweaking? You're a nutter, but you're my nutter and I see this means a lot, so I'll ask."
I was overjoyed. As it turned out Debbie said she would, she was bored, and as long as this "guy doesn't expect anything," wink, wink, and doesn't think she's 'available', well then alrighty a free dinner in Boston, yippee. Not available, I thought to meself. Since when I wanted to say, but held me tongue. Debbie has been date dry forever because she lives in the sticks of New Hampshire where there are no men and then the ones that are there, well she be tired of loggers. Don't ask. So I went back and told Patrick we had a dry run coming up and he was intrigued and mystified, he'd never dated an American woman and looking at Anne, well, he wanted to.
So the night of the dry run date came. Tonya and Debbie would meet us in the city, so after work, Patrick and I went to the restaurant lobby to await them.
"Tell me dis Gabe, do dese women like to eat in places like 'ere, cus it seems a waste a money when a few drinks at da pub be just as fine."
UH OH.
"Okay dere Patrick, lesson number one. Goin' to the pub be a sign of cheapness. And we can't do cheap."
"Well, does she pay half den?"
Oh my God.
"No, unless she offers to kick in dat's reasonable, but if she doesn't ye should have the extra cash in yer wallet just to be safe."
He looked forlorn at this.
"I have me Bank of Ireland card," he shrugged reluctantly and I wasn't sure he ever had used it. "I need a few beers how much time we 'ave befur the women git 'ere?"
"Lesson number 2 dere Patrick, it isn't attractive to greet your date holding onto the bar to keep upright. Most American women would rather go out fer coffee and pastry dan a crowded, noisy pub where dey find demselves yellin' to be 'eard."
"Ah, I get it, but wot if I'm da one wit the jitters, a drink or two won't hurt."
"Oh yes, it will. Ye don't want her to tink ye be an alcoholic now do ya?" I said seeing this was not going well. Then I noticed what he was wearing, and I felt a shock go straight through me. He had on black Dockers, a white shirt that he had rolled the sleeves to the elbow, no tie and a vest open to reveal an unbuttoned shirt front to the heart level. Talk about TYPICAL. He looked like he just got off the Titanic. All he needed was the Irish cap and he would be the complete Irish stereotype. OH MY GOD!
"Patrick, roll down da sleeves, tuck in da shirt better, button da vest up and button two more buttons on yer shirt dere," I said looking at the time.
This he did without question and it was amazing what a few buttons can do. Though I would have liked he chucked the vest, but well, there he was. Thank God his face was good-looking because I was hoping Debbie would be concentrating on that and not his clothing. Especially the Dockers. Geez Louise! I wanted to ask him, if he also worked in the mail room since he looked dressed for it, but held me tongue.
Tonya and Debbie arrived just as the transformation was completed, and as soon as Deb shook Patrick's hand, I saw the rockets go off. Uh oh, maybe I chose the wrong American single woman. Debbie had been so down on men I just naturally thought a new one on the scene wouldn't cause a flutter, only I was wrong!
We were seated right away, so that was good, and she was focused on his face not what he was wearing, and the two of them sat there waiting for Tonya and I to lead the conversation. Debbie was clearly smitten, Patrick . . . more a nervous wreck not sure what to say. Oi! He had gone all shy on me. So both Ton and I seeing this started on Patrick to get him to talk. It was like pulling nails out of an old board, HARD. We ordered drinks and after one his tongue got a wee bit loose, but not enough. After two he was getting there, after four we couldn't shut him up. He was ready for six, seven and eight if we let him go on to prove a terrible fact: Irishmen like to drink. Oi!
The problem was not the drink so much, but what he talked about. You can guess first up was his Mam, and she was up the entire conversation. Debbie asked him if he liked corned beef and cabbage (come on now, she's an American she has no clue we don't eat that) and he went into describing the delicious stew his mam makes when he's home and how she can cook circles around Chef Ramsey if given the chance. Yup.
"You can cook though, right? I mean if your mother is such a great cook, then naturally she's taught you." Debbie said.
"Em . . . no, I can just aboot boil waater." He said sipping his sixth Guinness.
"Oh," Debbie said stunned.
"I drink dis stuff . . . a lot," he laughed.
Debbie's eyes got big.
"Do ye follow da GAA?" He asked her.
"The what?" She asked coming back to reality.
"He means soccer be wot he be referrin' ta," I interjected.
"Soccer? Hells no. I do occasionally watch the Superbowl for the commercials, but really men chasing each other for a ball . . . it's just so stupid ya know?"
UH OH. He looked none too happy and ordered beer number 7 to drown his sorrow.
"So Patrick, what do you do for fun?" She asked brightly ignoring the sulking.
"I go ta footy games." He said sarcastically.
"Oh, you like to play footsie under the table?" She said stunned.
Oh, this wasn't going at all the way I envisioned. I had to explain footy was another word for soccer. It was her turn to sulk.
"So Patrick, are you planning on staying in the States?" Tonya jumped in.
"Yeah, if I can make me enough money den I will send fer me Mam and . . . "
I cut him off as quick as I could with a laugh like he was joking, but I knew he wasn't.
"So Patrick, you 'ave any brothers, sisters?" I tried to take the focus off his mother.
"I do, a sister and two brothers. Me brothers share me grandda's sheep farm up in Clare and me sister married me best friend Rob, who runs the pub in town. I spend a good deal of time at da pub, ya know free drinks and all," he laughed, "and when I'm not dere I be at Mam's while she does me laundry or cooks me wotever she tinks I might like. Did I tell ya wot a fab cook she be?"
OH MY GOD! He had to be stopped but no matter where I turned the conversation it came back to the drink and his Mam, sometimes to his Mam first and then the drink. Oh, it didn't matter he was screwed and there was nothing I could do about it. You would think the fact Debbie hardly touched her food or even acknowledged his conversation would be a clue she was DONE.
Tonya tried to get the focus on Debbie, to tell him what a wonderful cook SHE was, how she had bought her own home and decorated it so lovingly, and how Debbie had started a cottage industry that she had done very well with, etc., but he didn't care. He wanted to talk about how wonderful his Mam was as if it were a competition between Debbie and his Mam! I wanted to hit him with a menu, but how would that look?
The two women went to the ladies' room and I thought that the perfect time to tell me, countryman, he wasn't winning any dating points, as a matter of fact, he'd be lucky to get a date let alone the time of day from any woman except his very own Mam. Oi, oi, oi!
"Patrick, where be the romance in yer soul? Where be the poetry of the Irish charmer? Where be the eyes only fer yer date? Forget footy, forget yer Ma, forget the drinkin', focus man, focus on Debbie. Let's show her what a catch an Irishman is over all the rest of the men of the world. Can ya do it, man?" I asked hoping I appealed to him in some male way, but I was not hopeful.
He scratched his head and looked doubtful. Before he could say another word, the ladies returned. I sighed, I was defeated until as I was staring down at the table, I saw his hand reach for Deb's. I feared to look up, but she actually clutched his, and he said to her, "Deborah, I 'ave bean meanin' ta tell ya, how lovely ya look, but mostly I be smitten by yer pretty eyes. I've never seen such eyes on a lass."
"OH MY GOD," me wife blurted out loud, putting the napkin to her mouth quickly and feigning like she forgot something and she got up and went back to the ladies' room.
WHO IS HE? I thought to meself suddenly, catching meself from standing straight up in surprise. I stole a look at Debbie's face. She had melted, literally melted! I can't remember what she said, but he kicked into Irish Charmer mode and did a decent job of it. Tonya came back to see Debbie floating on air and she was kicking me under the table and out of the side of her mouth asking me why I never say things like that to her. Oi!
The whole dinner and dessert went well, he and I split the bill, he never made it like it was a problem, and I did offer to pay the whole of it since it was me idea, but he said no, it was fine. We got coats on and Debbie was standing there waiting, yes she was. I wasn't sure she was hoping he'd sweep her up in his arms and kiss her OR ask her for another date. Well, true to Irish form he did neither. Instead, he shook her hand and told her it had been nice meeting her and he thanked Tonya and me for a pleasant evening and on his way he was. YUP.
"So what did you think?" Tonya asked Deb tentatively.
"I dunno what to think, what man does that? Romances you through dinner and then just up and leaves? I mean really? And he's all about him when he isn't turning the charming button on."
"Ye tink he be too fixated on his ma?" I asked curious.
"OH MY GOD YES! I mean if his mother was here? There'd be no competition, he'd be home drinking, watching soccer and eating," and she threw up her hands.
I found out from him, that "Deborah be no Carrie Bradshaw. Not sure I could poot up wit being 'charming' all da time. I like ta watch footy, haf a few beers an I'd rather be waited on den wot she expects. Geez Gabe, are all American women so self-centred?"
Oh boy. I was dying to know if he watched Sex and the City, so I asked, I mean how else would he know about Carrie Bradshaw?
"Before I came here, I got da flick an watched it so I'd know how American women were. I wanted ta find an American wife like Carrie B. I was surprised Deborah didn't jump me bones an order the drink all night an dance around an . . . well, she was nothing like Carrie Bradshaw!"
I be chucking this out-doing Scott thing. I be so done. I be done with Maureen talking me into creating office romance between incompatible people as well. DONE! DONE, DONE DONE! As for Anne Shields, she's Maureen's problem, I am not putting these two together, though Maureen is trying to tell me it be a mistake not to, if there is a Carrie Bradshaw in the world, it's Anne Shields. HUM.
Gabe
Copyright © 2011 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
I have told you about Scott my Irish American co-worker and how Maureen and I tried to fix him up with her sister Rose, and what a disaster that was. Well, as if that wasn't bad enough, I have another laddie who be fresh from the boat (ok airplane) and he be here to make his fortune and find himself a wife, not necessarily in that order. So I learned this from a sarcastic Scott who was telling me about him and laughing his fool arse off that it just wasn't going to happen -- either dream. Well, I find Scott abrasive and that just got to me, for him to put down a fellow Irishman, well R. Linda, I was near fighting mad I was. Then I saw the subject of his disdain, and thought, hum, better looking than Scott and all the ladies' heads turned when this newbie passed by. He was oblivious though, but I saw right off we had a jealous Scott. Scotty felt displaced and he didn't like it. And that made me feel GOOD.
So I got it into me head to befriend the man after a conversation I had with Maureen. His name be Patrick Daugherty and he be a good lookin' fella from the old sod. His age, I'd guess be around 34, or 35 maybe and he has light blue eyes and dark hair, so I know that be a combo most girls like. The eyes by the bye are fringed with very long lashes which give him that smokey look that me wife, for one, and me friend Maureen for another, melt over. Maureen even told me if she wasn't STILL trying to work things out with the ex-fiancee she'd be inclined to give Patrick a run for his . . . pennies but she had one Irishman on her hands and wasn't inclined to try another. I would have suggested Rose as a possible partner, but Rose doesn't want an Irishman (too poor and shiftless says she) and Patrick had told Scott if he wanted an Irish woman he would have stayed in Ireland. So that settles that.
It all went pear-shaped when I told Maureen what Scott said and it caught in her craw as well, so we were united and determined to fix this guy up. Yes, we were. I was to take care of him, and Maureen to find a nice, eligible young lady who would like to date a foreigner as she put it.
"No, no, ye can't say 'Hey I got a foreigner for you to date,' how would dat sound?" I said as we discussed this covertly in the lunchroom.
"Well, he is." She countered.
"I know he is, but ye can't do dat. Makes him sound like he's this broken English-speaking bloke with bad hair and shabby clothes."
"Ack! 'ave ya seen em'?" She asked me throwing up her hands.
"Wot? Wot are you saying?" I was instantly alarmed.
"Well, he's not like dat Italian Enzo, but he's . . . well he's . . ."
She had a nasty look on her face and was waving her hands around (uh . . . like an Italian!) trying to find the proper descriptive word, but she gave up. THIS put me alarm into panic mode. I had already talked him up to a girl Maureen suggested named Anne Shields who worked in copy. She was just the girl Scott wanted to date, well everyone wanted to date, but Maureen knew better than I and I thought what a coup if I could fix her up with Patrick, but now something was wrong with Patrick. With this hesitation on Maureen's part, I wasn't so sure to proceed or give it up. Now what was I supposed to do? I had already put a clue in Anne's head that there was a new guy in town who was better than anything else in trousers who worked at the paper. I threw my hands up too.
"Alright dere Maureen, I 'aven't seen da boyo but at a short distance and he looked alright to me. What's wrong wit 'em, all looks and no brains?"
"Em . . . no, I tink da brains are dere it's da common sense be missing." She mused.
"I don't know wot you mean, like he forgets to use an umbrella when it rains, he wears shoes and forgets his socks? Wot?" I was puzzled.
"Uh . . . well no not exactly dat but he's uh . . . well he's typical. Dere I said it."
I sat there looking at her expecting a bit more, but she sipped her coffee and shrugged. Typical? What the hell is typical and what was she trying to communicate?
"Typical how? I mean am I typical?"
She looked at me over her cup considering and I knew yes I was considered 'typical' whatever that meant by what she wasn't saying, the look in her eyes said it all. I sighed and shook me head. I was thinking what was the greatest Irish fault I had so I said to her, "So, you're tellin' me he's not one for yard work?"
She laughed she did and shook her head.
"No, I don't know dat about him. I'm just sayin' he lacks da dating savvy dat moost Irishmen doo. I mean ya hear aboot the charmers a dat sort, but coom on Gabe, dey be far a few between. Moost of ya are clueless how ta romance a girl, and ye doo sooch a bad job o' it, dat's why moost of ye stay single an married ta da bottle, an if ya could marry ya Mam, moost of ya would if ya could git away wit it."
Wow! I was insulted I was. The effrontery. I leaned me face into the palm of me hand looking at her wishing I was deaf and hadn't heard that miserable analogy of a 'typical Irishman'.
"Ok look, you take em' and git em' all fixed ta date Anne an I'll prepare Anne fer . . . " She stopped as if the thought wasn't coming.
"FOR?" I was impatient with her now. "FOR WOT?"
"Uh . . . a date wit a nice Irish gent who . . . be fresh off da plane an . . . hopefully isn't attached ta is' Mammy! Dere I said it." She looked at me with great triumph.
I could have taken that personally but I had what looked like a hard job ahead of me. I didn't know how I was supposed to do this and prove Scott wrong simultaneously.
"Okay listen to me Maureen, you do wot you can wit Anne and I'll get to know da lad a wee bit and put out feelers if he's even interested in our bird . . . instead of his mam," I sighed, "and if he be, I'll turn meself inside out to get him passed a first date!"
We pinkie swore we'd give this a go and went our separate ways, each of us in deep thought.
I did get to take Patrick under me wing and we became good friends and I do indeed think he's a good catch. He just needs a wee bit of polish (ok a lot of polish), supervision (he has an unrealistic view of American women), and a lesson on the differences between Irish girls and American girls and how to keep from going crazy dating an American one. I have been feeding him for the past month pointers on dating an American. I mean I married one, so I feel I be qualified to give advice I do.
But a few days ago, I told Maureen we needed a test date before we introduced the two to a real date because I was concerned I am, that he's not ready. So I did point out to Patrick, Miss Shields and he was near salivating over her and I said I'd do the honours but first we had to make sure he could handle an American date. He was taken aback, what was I talking about? When he gave me that, I knew, as did Maureen, we had trouble on our hands big time. So we needed to find an American girl who would step up to the plate and give us a blow-by-blow of what Patrick needed to improve on to be fit to date an American.
Now before you go off on me, let me say American women are not like Irish women, nor French, nor British, nor German, etc., they are a different kind of woman entirely. They can be bossy, and mouthy, they like nice things, they expect nice things, they want a say in where the date is to take place, they dress up and well, basically a date has to always be special and about them. They don't want to hear about Mam, conditions back home, and how the poor bloke be scraping together a salary just barely. Oh yes, you know this be true!
So I told Tonya my dilemma and squirmed around until I came flat out and asked her to help Maureen and meself because so far Patrick was turning out to be not datable in the American sense of the word and I just had to prove Scotty boy wrong.
"So whatcha need Gabe?" She said straight out.
"Well, would ye consider we borrow yer friend Debbie just fer an evenin' out? Nothin' more den a platonic date to do some research on. You and I will double wit dem to make it comfortable and actually to see wot needs tweaking." I tried the puppy dog look.
"Tweaking? You're a nutter, but you're my nutter and I see this means a lot, so I'll ask."
I was overjoyed. As it turned out Debbie said she would, she was bored, and as long as this "guy doesn't expect anything," wink, wink, and doesn't think she's 'available', well then alrighty a free dinner in Boston, yippee. Not available, I thought to meself. Since when I wanted to say, but held me tongue. Debbie has been date dry forever because she lives in the sticks of New Hampshire where there are no men and then the ones that are there, well she be tired of loggers. Don't ask. So I went back and told Patrick we had a dry run coming up and he was intrigued and mystified, he'd never dated an American woman and looking at Anne, well, he wanted to.
So the night of the dry run date came. Tonya and Debbie would meet us in the city, so after work, Patrick and I went to the restaurant lobby to await them.
"Tell me dis Gabe, do dese women like to eat in places like 'ere, cus it seems a waste a money when a few drinks at da pub be just as fine."
UH OH.
"Okay dere Patrick, lesson number one. Goin' to the pub be a sign of cheapness. And we can't do cheap."
"Well, does she pay half den?"
Oh my God.
"No, unless she offers to kick in dat's reasonable, but if she doesn't ye should have the extra cash in yer wallet just to be safe."
He looked forlorn at this.
"I have me Bank of Ireland card," he shrugged reluctantly and I wasn't sure he ever had used it. "I need a few beers how much time we 'ave befur the women git 'ere?"
"Lesson number 2 dere Patrick, it isn't attractive to greet your date holding onto the bar to keep upright. Most American women would rather go out fer coffee and pastry dan a crowded, noisy pub where dey find demselves yellin' to be 'eard."
"Ah, I get it, but wot if I'm da one wit the jitters, a drink or two won't hurt."
"Oh yes, it will. Ye don't want her to tink ye be an alcoholic now do ya?" I said seeing this was not going well. Then I noticed what he was wearing, and I felt a shock go straight through me. He had on black Dockers, a white shirt that he had rolled the sleeves to the elbow, no tie and a vest open to reveal an unbuttoned shirt front to the heart level. Talk about TYPICAL. He looked like he just got off the Titanic. All he needed was the Irish cap and he would be the complete Irish stereotype. OH MY GOD!
"Patrick, roll down da sleeves, tuck in da shirt better, button da vest up and button two more buttons on yer shirt dere," I said looking at the time.
This he did without question and it was amazing what a few buttons can do. Though I would have liked he chucked the vest, but well, there he was. Thank God his face was good-looking because I was hoping Debbie would be concentrating on that and not his clothing. Especially the Dockers. Geez Louise! I wanted to ask him, if he also worked in the mail room since he looked dressed for it, but held me tongue.
Tonya and Debbie arrived just as the transformation was completed, and as soon as Deb shook Patrick's hand, I saw the rockets go off. Uh oh, maybe I chose the wrong American single woman. Debbie had been so down on men I just naturally thought a new one on the scene wouldn't cause a flutter, only I was wrong!
We were seated right away, so that was good, and she was focused on his face not what he was wearing, and the two of them sat there waiting for Tonya and I to lead the conversation. Debbie was clearly smitten, Patrick . . . more a nervous wreck not sure what to say. Oi! He had gone all shy on me. So both Ton and I seeing this started on Patrick to get him to talk. It was like pulling nails out of an old board, HARD. We ordered drinks and after one his tongue got a wee bit loose, but not enough. After two he was getting there, after four we couldn't shut him up. He was ready for six, seven and eight if we let him go on to prove a terrible fact: Irishmen like to drink. Oi!
The problem was not the drink so much, but what he talked about. You can guess first up was his Mam, and she was up the entire conversation. Debbie asked him if he liked corned beef and cabbage (come on now, she's an American she has no clue we don't eat that) and he went into describing the delicious stew his mam makes when he's home and how she can cook circles around Chef Ramsey if given the chance. Yup.
"You can cook though, right? I mean if your mother is such a great cook, then naturally she's taught you." Debbie said.
"Em . . . no, I can just aboot boil waater." He said sipping his sixth Guinness.
"Oh," Debbie said stunned.
"I drink dis stuff . . . a lot," he laughed.
Debbie's eyes got big.
"Do ye follow da GAA?" He asked her.
"The what?" She asked coming back to reality.
"He means soccer be wot he be referrin' ta," I interjected.
"Soccer? Hells no. I do occasionally watch the Superbowl for the commercials, but really men chasing each other for a ball . . . it's just so stupid ya know?"
UH OH. He looked none too happy and ordered beer number 7 to drown his sorrow.
"So Patrick, what do you do for fun?" She asked brightly ignoring the sulking.
"I go ta footy games." He said sarcastically.
"Oh, you like to play footsie under the table?" She said stunned.
Oh, this wasn't going at all the way I envisioned. I had to explain footy was another word for soccer. It was her turn to sulk.
"So Patrick, are you planning on staying in the States?" Tonya jumped in.
"Yeah, if I can make me enough money den I will send fer me Mam and . . . "
I cut him off as quick as I could with a laugh like he was joking, but I knew he wasn't.
"So Patrick, you 'ave any brothers, sisters?" I tried to take the focus off his mother.
"I do, a sister and two brothers. Me brothers share me grandda's sheep farm up in Clare and me sister married me best friend Rob, who runs the pub in town. I spend a good deal of time at da pub, ya know free drinks and all," he laughed, "and when I'm not dere I be at Mam's while she does me laundry or cooks me wotever she tinks I might like. Did I tell ya wot a fab cook she be?"
OH MY GOD! He had to be stopped but no matter where I turned the conversation it came back to the drink and his Mam, sometimes to his Mam first and then the drink. Oh, it didn't matter he was screwed and there was nothing I could do about it. You would think the fact Debbie hardly touched her food or even acknowledged his conversation would be a clue she was DONE.
Tonya tried to get the focus on Debbie, to tell him what a wonderful cook SHE was, how she had bought her own home and decorated it so lovingly, and how Debbie had started a cottage industry that she had done very well with, etc., but he didn't care. He wanted to talk about how wonderful his Mam was as if it were a competition between Debbie and his Mam! I wanted to hit him with a menu, but how would that look?
The two women went to the ladies' room and I thought that the perfect time to tell me, countryman, he wasn't winning any dating points, as a matter of fact, he'd be lucky to get a date let alone the time of day from any woman except his very own Mam. Oi, oi, oi!
"Patrick, where be the romance in yer soul? Where be the poetry of the Irish charmer? Where be the eyes only fer yer date? Forget footy, forget yer Ma, forget the drinkin', focus man, focus on Debbie. Let's show her what a catch an Irishman is over all the rest of the men of the world. Can ya do it, man?" I asked hoping I appealed to him in some male way, but I was not hopeful.
He scratched his head and looked doubtful. Before he could say another word, the ladies returned. I sighed, I was defeated until as I was staring down at the table, I saw his hand reach for Deb's. I feared to look up, but she actually clutched his, and he said to her, "Deborah, I 'ave bean meanin' ta tell ya, how lovely ya look, but mostly I be smitten by yer pretty eyes. I've never seen such eyes on a lass."
"OH MY GOD," me wife blurted out loud, putting the napkin to her mouth quickly and feigning like she forgot something and she got up and went back to the ladies' room.
WHO IS HE? I thought to meself suddenly, catching meself from standing straight up in surprise. I stole a look at Debbie's face. She had melted, literally melted! I can't remember what she said, but he kicked into Irish Charmer mode and did a decent job of it. Tonya came back to see Debbie floating on air and she was kicking me under the table and out of the side of her mouth asking me why I never say things like that to her. Oi!
The whole dinner and dessert went well, he and I split the bill, he never made it like it was a problem, and I did offer to pay the whole of it since it was me idea, but he said no, it was fine. We got coats on and Debbie was standing there waiting, yes she was. I wasn't sure she was hoping he'd sweep her up in his arms and kiss her OR ask her for another date. Well, true to Irish form he did neither. Instead, he shook her hand and told her it had been nice meeting her and he thanked Tonya and me for a pleasant evening and on his way he was. YUP.
"So what did you think?" Tonya asked Deb tentatively.
"I dunno what to think, what man does that? Romances you through dinner and then just up and leaves? I mean really? And he's all about him when he isn't turning the charming button on."
"Ye tink he be too fixated on his ma?" I asked curious.
"OH MY GOD YES! I mean if his mother was here? There'd be no competition, he'd be home drinking, watching soccer and eating," and she threw up her hands.
I found out from him, that "Deborah be no Carrie Bradshaw. Not sure I could poot up wit being 'charming' all da time. I like ta watch footy, haf a few beers an I'd rather be waited on den wot she expects. Geez Gabe, are all American women so self-centred?"
Oh boy. I was dying to know if he watched Sex and the City, so I asked, I mean how else would he know about Carrie Bradshaw?
"Before I came here, I got da flick an watched it so I'd know how American women were. I wanted ta find an American wife like Carrie B. I was surprised Deborah didn't jump me bones an order the drink all night an dance around an . . . well, she was nothing like Carrie Bradshaw!"
I be chucking this out-doing Scott thing. I be so done. I be done with Maureen talking me into creating office romance between incompatible people as well. DONE! DONE, DONE DONE! As for Anne Shields, she's Maureen's problem, I am not putting these two together, though Maureen is trying to tell me it be a mistake not to, if there is a Carrie Bradshaw in the world, it's Anne Shields. HUM.
Gabe
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11 comments:
You should get an "A" for effort Gabe. LOL, very funny stuff!
I should get me head examined instead. Saw him pass by a few minutes ago and he looked like he'd been delivering the mail. I did manage to hint he might, as a single guy, pick up a copy of GQ and give the style guide a go. SIGH. Like Maureen said, we can at least dress his good looking self up so he doesn't continually embarrass our Irish selves in the clothing department. I know I need a real job with something important to do.
Nothing wrong with a vest Gabe. Surely you wore one back in the day? No? I think it rather charming myself :)
No vest for yours truly unless I want to look like I belong to the cast of Riverdance. Uh . . . no.
LOL. I love Riverdance and so does me Mam who might be your next follower by the way, given the fact the stories I have read her brighten her day. All I need to do is buy her a laptop, give her a quick lesson on how to get to your blog and she could be your oldest follower yet at the ripe old age of 84. See that? Your stories touch all ages :)
HEY BUD! If you insist on a career as a matchmaker, GET PAID FOR IT!
I should not be even engaging in such foolishness. It looks like I have too much time on me hands.
OR forget matchmaking! and go into MAKEOVERS! YEAH, then you can have a second or 3rd career!LMAO
I'd like to meet Maureen, take her over my knee. Can she get anymore abrasive? You do know that not all Irishmen are Mammy's boys, so Maureen needs a reality check and Debbie? Honestly? No clue what the GAA is? She live under a rock or what?
Em . . . ya did meet her at a certain wedding. AND Maureen says, uh . . . LOL never mind what she says but she's all for the over the knee now that she recalls who your fine self is. Got yourself in trouble didn't you? That'll learn you. LMAO
Whoa!
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