Well, that went well . . . NOT

22 January 2012

490

R. Linda:

You may have thought I have kept meself aloof from the Maureen finding a date for Rose situation, but no, no, I haven't been quite able to manage an escape. Maureen sits across from me at work, so this is impossible for me not to be thrown into WHAT TO DO ABOUT ROSE conversations which goes on every spare moment Maureen isn't busy. Doesn't matter if I be busy, no, no, so what Gabriel gets fired, but at least Maureen gets all her Rose angst off her chest she does.

OI!

So yesterday, I get this email that if I be free Sunday evening would me and the wife care to join Maureen and her new beau (oh yes, the engaged fiancee' was ditched and sent back to the old sod he was and yes, I be at fault for that (see Getting Married To An Irishman--Lucky Girl, March 13, 2011)) and Ms. Maureen has been dating . . . are you sitting down? Remember Patrick Daugherty? (see Trying To Fix Up an Irishman With An American Woman, May 23, 2011). HIM.

I sat and stared at that email for a very long time, too long because I did not realise I had me instant messaging to the office open when there appeared DING! followed by this: "WELL?"

It was Maureen herself and well I was taken aback and in a panic I was. No, I did not want another round of Irish dating even if it didn't involve Rose this time. I tell ya R. Linda, I be not cut out for this sort of ting, I mean thing, I just am not. I tried me damnedest to get out of it, and I did. She already knew I was coming back from South Carolina Saturday late on the red-eye, and I'd be home today! She had checked me schedule at work she had, so I was stuck. What could I do? I told her I'd be a knackered lad and had a lot to write up, but she didn't care. "No, make time Gabriel THIS be important!" How much more important than me job? Come on!

So I rang up the wife and she was as looking forward to this outing as I was.

"Gabe do lunch, we can do lunch, BUT make them come to us. We can go out to that bistro we haven't been to." Tonya said. "It's the only way I'll go if they come here."

Well, OK and so I thought Maureen wouldn't want to drive to New Hampshire, but I was wrong!

"That's a great idea, Gabe, tell Tonya we'll be up around 12 for loonch. I really want YOUR opinion on if ye tink Patrick be worth it or not."

For joi! I did say me humble opinion wasn't worth the light of day (I remember dissing her ex) and that I was not the one dating Patrick, it was all up to her. But no, she wanted my input. I hadn't seen the lad since that ill-fated night of a fiasco at dinner. I had no clue if he was still working with us or not, or had gone back to the old sod. For the life of me, I couldn't see HER dating HIM unless he had a lobotomy, or his mammy died leaving him to fend for himself on his own (I know that's terrible of me), or, she had got out the whip and actually cleaned up his act, but . . . uh not likely?

So late last night I got in, got me work done, slept as long as I could which wasn't long and then me and the wife got ourselves dressed and ready, the babysitter settled in, and off we went to meet me two countrymen at the bistro Tonya had suggested. Well, we got there and I could see right off Patrick was outfitted like a fashion model . . . an Irish one. My God but Maureen wasted no time whipping him into the shape she thought he'd look best in. Well, he did, but Maureen isn't exactly Americanised herself, so let me describe for you what Patrick was wearing.

He had on leather pants, tight, an expensive striped shirt with what in the States is called a vest over it. His shoes were half boots with a buckle on the side, that made the pants more motorcycle than fashionable, and on his head was a new black Irish cap. Yes, he looked like a stylin' sort from the old sod he did. Hair was cut, clean-shaven, neat and with that smile, you can't get more Irish than THAT.

"Charming," Tonya said under her breath, but wait let us not have Patrick outdo Maureen, no, SHE had on a green Aran jumper, with short rust-coloured mini, and knee-high boots to match. The jumper was cut in half by a silver chain belt that had an Irish symbol dangling on the end. Her red hair was all fluffed out in ringlets and begorrah she looked the high-class Irish step dance lass she did. They couldn't have looked more IRISH not at all American.

"Both look like well-dressed foreign tourists," Tonya said out of the side of her mouth. "Don't YOU fall back into THAT look after all the years it has taken me to get you to dress like you LIVE HERE."

Oh boy.

"You'd not catch meself in leather trousers," I whispered back at the idea.

After greetings which seemed stiff, Patrick announced he'd rather eat at a pub, did we have any around? Well, this was not what Tonya wanted to hear, but since this luncheon was THEIR idea, a pub it was. There were two Irish pubs just down and around the corner, his choice. Off we went to O'Bannon's which was so dark inside we had to form a chain to stay together. Once at the table (of which there was but one flickering candle) we had to each share a turn at bringing the candle to our menus to read them. Oi!

"Just like back home," Patrick announced to a stunned Tonya.

"Well, good thing my skin isn't real black, I'd disappear in here," Tonya quipped.

"Oh I noticed you have a tan have you been on holiday?" He asked her and I almost fell under the table.

"No," she said slowly, "my mother is a black woman."

"OH! Don't take this wrong, but that explains it!" Stupid said in response.

Oi, oi, oi! Lovely Patrick, anytime I hear someone start off with that line I know they are really saying, I be about to insult your arse and if you don't take this well then you deserve it!

Not to be outdone, and yes, Tonya took it as an insult, she insulted him back, but he was not (as the captain would say) savvy enough to know he was being insulted when she said back, "You look like my older brother a little." Her older brother is middle-aged with a gut and shaped like a pear, far from his glory days and she was comparing our Patrick to her much older grumpy, frumpy brother. I tried not to laugh as Maureen looked at me knowing very well, that Tonya's remark was NOT a compliment.

She spread her napkin with some loud slapping of it on her lap, looking dagger eyes at me! I didn't have any part in their conversation and I looked back at her like WHAT?

"So Danny, you work with Gabe and Maureen?"

UH OH, another flip-off from the wife! A blow to the man's ego for sure, but nah, he didn't even correct her, Maureen did!

"Oh sorry," Tonya muttered with a malicious smile. I knew then she had it in for Danny Boy I mean Patrick!

"You are not from here?" Patrick said to Tonya, oblivious to the flip-off. "Are you from New York? Is that what Maureen said?"

"No, New Jersey, I was raised in Toms River, but my parents live in Cape May now."

"Oh New Jersey, I've heard of THAT! It's a suburb of New York!" He said brightly.

Chalk one up for Patrick!

"I keep telling Maureen we should go to New York City have a look around," he said perusing the menu with the candle.

I glanced at Maureen who's eyebrows looked like a uni-brow such was her frown. I knew what she was tinkin' I mean thinking, nice to know Patrick likes her, but planning out her future when the blush hasn't left the rose, well . . .

"So Mo, what would like to start? A Murphy's?" He asked her.

"I would but not fer YOU you are on the waggon remember?" She said with that pissed-off tone in her voice.

Well, even in the dark me wife's eyes grew very large and she pressed her lips together as her face took on that 'oh shite' look. She and I, as well as the subject of alcoholism, knew Mo or Maureen as we know her, just threw in on the insults.

The waitress appeared and was waiting for the drink order which went like this:

Tonya: "A tonic water for me with a slice of lime."
Maureen: "A Murphy's stout, please."
Me: "A Murphy's for me too."
Patrick: "A double Jameson." (Said with a sneer.)

Boo Ya! I was feeling the body language I was, and it wasn't good. All of them mouthing conversation that would kill any kind of relationship building.

The drinks came and Tonya and I were trying to not notice the dagger-eyed looks Patrick got every time he took a sip of his whiskey. I jumped in trying to fix things only I didn't realise at first (such were me nerves) that I picked the wrong subject, no it was a subject that kept the barbs flying. I said, "So Maureen you want to go to New York City?"

"Not while the froth be still on me pint I don't."

Uh oh, and for that question Tonya did give me a swift kick under the table. She whipped out her pictures of the kiddos to take focus off the obvious.

Patrick held the candle to the pictures and was telling us what a manly looking sport was O'Hare and then he came to LaGuardia (but the pictures were not recent they were of him as a baby) and to all our horror of horrors he did the unthinkable, I think to impress Maureen, which it didn't. He said, "Aw lookie at the wickle ickle bobee."

OH yeah.

"Really Patrick?" Maureen said in a whisper nudging him with her elbow. He handed back the pictures and Tonya made a short shift of putting them away. We all sat there saying nothing.

The waitress was back for our order and it went like this:

Tonya: "I'll . . . I'll . . . I'll have . . . the . . . fish and chips!"
Maureen: "Ummm I tink I'll haf da . . . how be da stew made, wit lamb or beef?"
Waitress: "It's Irish Stew, lamb."
Maureen's face was as red as her hair: "I know what it should be maida but sometimes places put in beef."
Waitress: "We do lamb."
Maureen slammed the menu shut: "Den I'll be havin' dat!"
Patrick: "Mo, dats not exactly slimmin'."
Maureen taken aback: "Do ya tink I'm fat?"
Patrick: "No, but ye said not ta be feedin' ya fattin' foods!"
Maureen looked shamefully at us: "I MEANT candy!"
Waitress with a sneer: "So do you still want the Irish Stew?"
Maureen really fired up: "YEAH I DO, I SAID DAT DIDENT I?"
I jumped in before we had a hair-pulling match between Maureen and the waitress: "I'll have the cottage pie!"

Well, if Maureen hadn't told him to warn her about her weight and he did of his own free will, then I'd think she had something to gripe about because you know someone who does that out of the blue be sure to be reminding you of your food choices for the rest of the relationship. But later he had told me she said after he had gifted her with the sixth box of chocolates, "Patrick I be getting fat, I appreciate your thoughtfulness but no more candy."

"Mo, you din't haf ta be so rude ta da waitress." Patrick quipped annoyed as he slammed his napkin on his lap.

Those were fighting words, she looked at him through slits and through her gritted teeth said, "Then why don't you date HER!"

Tonya took a breath and plunged in to stop lunch from going south, "Maureen, that's a pretty bracelet, did Patrick give you that?"

"Oh, this?" Maureen held up a sparkly gold and pricey wrist, a twisted and nasty smirk on her face, "No, it was from me ex."

OH NO!

Patrick hung his head and muttered something about the price of chocolates, good ones.

Well, lunch got off finally, it was stilted conversation. I chatted with Maureen, Tonya chatted with Patrick, and then we'd trade, but neither of them spoke to the other. Then Maureen's mobile phone rang, it was Rose asking how the lunch was going (I found this out later), but at the time we didn't know who was on the other end, and let me tell ya, there be nothing more annoying to yours truly as having a conversation or watching a flick that you have to PAUSE while you are forced to eavesdrop on a conversation that makes you feel small and invisible. Hate it, hate it, hate it! When she got off she noticed Patrick sitting in deep thought.

"What are you tinkin' so deeply about?" She asked him snidely.

Well, whatever it was his eyes grew big he was noticed at all, and what the subject of his thoughts were, as well as being asked without warning, had caught the boyo way off guard. He stammered not wanting to answer truthfully that he was thinking how to break this thing off without getting his head handed to him.

We opted out of dessert because: "Ye don't wan me gittin' fat now do ye 'Paddy'? I have enough Russell Stover's to last me . . . oh what . . . a few years. I should be lookin' quite the hog by the end of next year if I eat any more of em'."

"So . . . I take it we'll skip dessert." Tonya stated more than asked.

Not a word from Patrick, he was mad ya could see his eyes were burning anger, and as for HER she was getting her purse and self already for the LONGGG ride back to BOSTON.

I know you're laughing, and to be sure so was Tonya all the way home. I told her that her reaction wasn't very nice and then she turned and looked at me, throwing this out: "So YOU think I am to blame for THEM not getting along?"

UH OH, I be too used to her by now to buy into an argy, I just shook me head and said, "No, not really, I never gave it a taught da two of em' would be a match. Imagine my surprise when she rang about havin' loonch and well . . ."

That got me off the hook until she said this: "Why are you talking with an Irish accent again like you just got off the boat? I thought you were doing very well lately, but put you with your countrymen and there you go off on an Irish tangent."

I was insulted I was. It took all I could to hold me tongue about her pronouncing coffee as cawwfee, or for carry, she says caaaree, for marriage it's mairage, water is wadda, you is yew, accent is axsent, and I could go on, but no, no, I kept me trap (as she would call me piehole), shut.

Am home now, reliving the fun, oh yeah and SHE be somewhere. SIGH.

Gabe
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