164
R. Linda:
I told meself the last I saw young Weasil and wife that I would not get myself into any potential situations where I would wind up: 1. embarrassed in public, 2. drunk, and 3. so crazy I couldn't find the use of me speech.
That is what I promised myself, I did. The one thing I did not do, was share that we my wife. All week I was looking forward to me wife making me an Irish dish (she promised to do that if I did not go out with the 'heathens' at work on St. Patrick's Day). So there I be thinking she had gone and got me fav recipe for Irish stew from me mam, and I be salivating all week just thinking on it.
Come the day before the great day, and I notice there be the Boston rendition of St. Patty's fare, a corned beef resting on a shelf in me fridge. This is about as Irish as it gets in America. I was going to ask about the meat when my wife gifts me with this huge smile about how she got a good cut of corned beef (if there be such a thing), and a lovely cabbage, carrots, and potatoes to go with it. She had no time to bake brown bread, so she picked up a loaf of Canadian Pumpernickel. Is there such a thing as Canadian Pumpernickel?
So I say nothing -- not to spoil her pride in what she thought was an authentic Irish feast for St. Patrick's Day; corned beef is a Jewish deli meat where I come from. Hardly Irish. Corned beef in the old country comes in tins and not plastic with juice and seasoning.
Then to top off my disappointment, she informs me that she and Weasil's wife, Mandy are going to make Irish soda bread and a Bailey's cheesecake. First off, no offence towards Mandy, but soda to her is a Coke A Cola, so there I was quaking in me boots at the thought of that sitting on me table, a soft drink disguised as Irish bread. The cheesecake, well alright I'll give the Bailey's Irish Cream a try in the form of a cheesecake, but if truth be known, I'd rather drink it. What happened to Irish whiskey cake?
After running those threads of thoughts through me reeling brain, it dawned on me that if Mandy was coming to cook, Weasil would be there to eat it. OMG, St. Patrick's Day and I was going to be forced to celebrate me very own holiday not with a succulent Irish lamb stew, but with Coke A Cola bread, a waste of Bailey's in a cheesecake, deli meat with veggies and Canadian store-bought bread, topped off with a healthy serving of Weasil!
Run for the hills I told myself. Do not stop, do pass go and keep on going!
I left the room and literally shook me fists in the air, me body moving like a person having a fit, shaking me head with such force, that me tongue was slapping each side of me face as I silently screamed in my very own living room.
When I had got it all out, I pulled meself together and walked back into the kitchen where the wife was still smiling to herself at how grateful I was. I did not let on that spending my evening with a Scottish moron and his equally strange diva wife was my idea of a fun St. Patty's Day. I'd rather be with the heathens from work. And to top it all off, she tells me our neighbour Lois is invited as well.
"Poor soul has no one, so I thought . . ."
I was back in my living room doing the same silent dance as before. And why? I haven't said a fecking thing about this Lois to you, or to Tonya for that matter. Let me tell you about the "poor soul" and then you tell me if I should be happy about her joining us.
The problem I have is: that she is a divorcee with a penchant for an Irishman in her bed, or corn crib, hayloft, she doesn't care which. She's been chasing yours truly around since she found out she had neighbours in the old house next door. And that one is a male and better, has an Irish accent. I have been fending her off the best way I know how with no help from anyone. Me wife has befriended this maneater. Now Tonya has a temper when she feels threatened. That new wood chopper makes me nervous she'd up and use it on either me, the predator next door, or both if she felt something was going down.
Lois wears men's shoes, R. Linda! She wears an old dirty trench coat with nothing underneath. How do I know this? She flashed me several times this summer while I was out mowing the lawn and each time I fell off the running tractor almost running meself over. Her hair is wild and uncombed, and she has big apple-red cheeks that shine, SHINE I tell ya!
When I came home yesterday, filled with trepidation, there was Mandy and Tonya in the kitchen holding a leek. Yes, neither one knew what it was, or what you do with it, just that it went into the soup they were preparing. I had to roll my sleeves up and get in there and slice and dice it for them, or it would have been sticking out of the pot whole. I found they had already made the cheesecake and were looped on Bailey's. Yes, they sipped along as they zipped along. I didn't want to do it, but I looked in the fridge at the cheesecake and I knew with one look it was overcooked and all the liquor was dead in the centre in a pool. Oh yum.
How much Bailey's is in there ladies?" asked I.
"Well, the recipe said to use 1/2 cup, but because it is St. Pat's Day I put in a whole cup."
This, from the proud mouth of Mandy. I did not ask about the soda bread after that, I just did not want to know.
Not only was the cheesecake overcooked, it was probably drunk. I was like, no, no I will not be eating THAT unless they pour it into a glass and I can drink it.
Somehow they had started the corned beef in a slow oven cooking several hours before my arrival. There was next to the half-gone Bailey's an empty six-pack of Guinness. I questioned how much of the dark brew they were cooking the corned beef and cabbage with. The answer, stunned me, two bottles, the rest they drank while chopping veggies. Oh my God, I thought to meself, and I knew that Mandy couldn't cook and with Tonya a wee bit high, well, no one could actually cook could they? No wonder they didn't know what to do with the leek.
I shook me head and excused meself to go change out of my work clothes, just as Lois arrived. Phew! That was close and I locked me door so she wouldn't be coming in to tell me something, knowing full well yours truly was half-dressed. By the time I got back, dinner was near to being served, and there in all his glory, decked out in a Scottish kilt, with Prince Charlie jacket and worse, a fly plaid, was Weasil. Yes, you'd think we were celebrating Guy Fawkes Day, not St. Pat's.
The Weasil actually bought me a present, a bottle of 10-year-old single malt Bushmills. I needed that with one look at Lois who was actually wearing clothes! She stood behind my wife winking at me! She was dressed in green, R. Linda, like a leprechaun. Her hair was actually combed and she had scrubbed her skin until she shined more than usual. Her cheeks were very red, but so was her nose, I could only guess she had hit the apple jack before coming over.
Weasil had us taking shots before dinner, one right after the other. Mind you the two wives were already three sheets to shiteface. I will say, it didn't take us long to catch up with them. Especially when Lois came and entwined her arm through yours truly's so we could take a shot at the same time. I was quickly putting Tonya in my sight but her back was to me getting soup off the stove.
Tonya had gone all out and had set a grand table, in the kitchen, not the dining room, because she wanted us to be "close and homey" not spread out. So we were elbow to elbow, except in my case where Lois was busy playing footsie under my own table with yours truly trying to remove her foot from sliding up me thigh to a place that should always be relaxed when dinner is being served upon a table, not a bed.
Tonya had found a light green tablecloth with shamrock place mats and a shamrock piece of cloth in the middle of the table with metallic shamrocks, varying-sized metallic dots and coins spread around it. Mandy had brought her a leprechaun made out of a plant (don't ask). Lois had brought a giggle box full of candies filled with Irish Mist chocolates. Every time you opened it, the box would laugh (rolling eyes here). Hell, I be sending along the picture of the table and the plant leprechaun so you can see what I saw. With all the plates on the table, we ended up with sparkles everywhere. By the time dinner was done, I was wearing green and gold sparkles on me face, me clothing, and it was on me plate, and I think I consumed a good deal of metallic because the taste in me mouth the next day was decidedly metallic!
Oh and one thing, I had a lot of metallic that was up around me privates thanks to Lois's foot. My wife said I had a lap full and Lois said under her breath, "More like a foot full," but I was thankfully the only one who heard that.
We had to put on these Mardi Gras-like green necklaces with shamrocks or huge gold coins. My necklace was "special" because it had a shot glass attached to all those metallic shamrocks. And why? Because I am the only "real" Irish one and so I must be the only authentic alcoholic in the room. Mind you my wife and HIS wife were the ones pissed faced and neither are from Ireland, I want you to know.
Anyway, we had Irish potato soup for the first time and my God it was good. Have none left. Of course, that was after the Bushmills shots, so who can say if it was really all that delicious? Then we had the corned beef and cabbage. And yes there was the assortment of Guinness stout and extra stout and those who only drink Heinekins (cowards) -- that would be me wife and Mandy and why not? They drank their fill of Guinness in the early morning hours and well, heaven forbid they should drink it all and leave the only Irishman in the house with a German beer for dinner! For dessert we stayed alcoholic with the cheesecake and topped it all off with Irish coffees, brimming with what else? BUSHMILLS! That any of us could stand up is a miracle. I think it was fun, what I remember of it anyway.
Except for the drunken conversation Weasil had with "the girls." I had no mind who he was referring to when he'd say slurring his words, "My girls, my girls, my girls," and he'd grin away in a lecherous manner and Mandy would giggle. He calls her breasts, his girls. HIS GIRLS for God's sake! And she was no better referring to meeting up with "Willie and the boys" later. Well, let's all name our private parts shall we? Begorrah me, what are they like? Can you just hear the conversation?
"Awww where are my girls?"
"Right here Willie, press the boys on up closer will ya?"
YIKESSSSSSSSSSSS. Nightmare!!!
I had forgotten the whole event of last evening until this morning when I rolled out of bed and found Weasil and his wife on my sofa bed sawing z's. It has taken me all day to do two things. Get rid of my hangover and the Weasils.
A little of the dog that bit me might be wonderful, but all the Guinness be drunk, the Bailey's is empty and I think the cheesecake lurched out the door last night on its own. Sooo, that brings me to YOU. How was your St. Patrick's Day?
Enclosed is a picture of the table BEFORE we messed it up with food.
Gabe
R. Linda:
I told meself the last I saw young Weasil and wife that I would not get myself into any potential situations where I would wind up: 1. embarrassed in public, 2. drunk, and 3. so crazy I couldn't find the use of me speech.
That is what I promised myself, I did. The one thing I did not do, was share that we my wife. All week I was looking forward to me wife making me an Irish dish (she promised to do that if I did not go out with the 'heathens' at work on St. Patrick's Day). So there I be thinking she had gone and got me fav recipe for Irish stew from me mam, and I be salivating all week just thinking on it.
Come the day before the great day, and I notice there be the Boston rendition of St. Patty's fare, a corned beef resting on a shelf in me fridge. This is about as Irish as it gets in America. I was going to ask about the meat when my wife gifts me with this huge smile about how she got a good cut of corned beef (if there be such a thing), and a lovely cabbage, carrots, and potatoes to go with it. She had no time to bake brown bread, so she picked up a loaf of Canadian Pumpernickel. Is there such a thing as Canadian Pumpernickel?
So I say nothing -- not to spoil her pride in what she thought was an authentic Irish feast for St. Patrick's Day; corned beef is a Jewish deli meat where I come from. Hardly Irish. Corned beef in the old country comes in tins and not plastic with juice and seasoning.
Then to top off my disappointment, she informs me that she and Weasil's wife, Mandy are going to make Irish soda bread and a Bailey's cheesecake. First off, no offence towards Mandy, but soda to her is a Coke A Cola, so there I was quaking in me boots at the thought of that sitting on me table, a soft drink disguised as Irish bread. The cheesecake, well alright I'll give the Bailey's Irish Cream a try in the form of a cheesecake, but if truth be known, I'd rather drink it. What happened to Irish whiskey cake?
After running those threads of thoughts through me reeling brain, it dawned on me that if Mandy was coming to cook, Weasil would be there to eat it. OMG, St. Patrick's Day and I was going to be forced to celebrate me very own holiday not with a succulent Irish lamb stew, but with Coke A Cola bread, a waste of Bailey's in a cheesecake, deli meat with veggies and Canadian store-bought bread, topped off with a healthy serving of Weasil!
Run for the hills I told myself. Do not stop, do pass go and keep on going!
I left the room and literally shook me fists in the air, me body moving like a person having a fit, shaking me head with such force, that me tongue was slapping each side of me face as I silently screamed in my very own living room.
When I had got it all out, I pulled meself together and walked back into the kitchen where the wife was still smiling to herself at how grateful I was. I did not let on that spending my evening with a Scottish moron and his equally strange diva wife was my idea of a fun St. Patty's Day. I'd rather be with the heathens from work. And to top it all off, she tells me our neighbour Lois is invited as well.
"Poor soul has no one, so I thought . . ."
I was back in my living room doing the same silent dance as before. And why? I haven't said a fecking thing about this Lois to you, or to Tonya for that matter. Let me tell you about the "poor soul" and then you tell me if I should be happy about her joining us.
The problem I have is: that she is a divorcee with a penchant for an Irishman in her bed, or corn crib, hayloft, she doesn't care which. She's been chasing yours truly around since she found out she had neighbours in the old house next door. And that one is a male and better, has an Irish accent. I have been fending her off the best way I know how with no help from anyone. Me wife has befriended this maneater. Now Tonya has a temper when she feels threatened. That new wood chopper makes me nervous she'd up and use it on either me, the predator next door, or both if she felt something was going down.
Lois wears men's shoes, R. Linda! She wears an old dirty trench coat with nothing underneath. How do I know this? She flashed me several times this summer while I was out mowing the lawn and each time I fell off the running tractor almost running meself over. Her hair is wild and uncombed, and she has big apple-red cheeks that shine, SHINE I tell ya!
When I came home yesterday, filled with trepidation, there was Mandy and Tonya in the kitchen holding a leek. Yes, neither one knew what it was, or what you do with it, just that it went into the soup they were preparing. I had to roll my sleeves up and get in there and slice and dice it for them, or it would have been sticking out of the pot whole. I found they had already made the cheesecake and were looped on Bailey's. Yes, they sipped along as they zipped along. I didn't want to do it, but I looked in the fridge at the cheesecake and I knew with one look it was overcooked and all the liquor was dead in the centre in a pool. Oh yum.
How much Bailey's is in there ladies?" asked I.
"Well, the recipe said to use 1/2 cup, but because it is St. Pat's Day I put in a whole cup."
This, from the proud mouth of Mandy. I did not ask about the soda bread after that, I just did not want to know.
Not only was the cheesecake overcooked, it was probably drunk. I was like, no, no I will not be eating THAT unless they pour it into a glass and I can drink it.
Somehow they had started the corned beef in a slow oven cooking several hours before my arrival. There was next to the half-gone Bailey's an empty six-pack of Guinness. I questioned how much of the dark brew they were cooking the corned beef and cabbage with. The answer, stunned me, two bottles, the rest they drank while chopping veggies. Oh my God, I thought to meself, and I knew that Mandy couldn't cook and with Tonya a wee bit high, well, no one could actually cook could they? No wonder they didn't know what to do with the leek.
I shook me head and excused meself to go change out of my work clothes, just as Lois arrived. Phew! That was close and I locked me door so she wouldn't be coming in to tell me something, knowing full well yours truly was half-dressed. By the time I got back, dinner was near to being served, and there in all his glory, decked out in a Scottish kilt, with Prince Charlie jacket and worse, a fly plaid, was Weasil. Yes, you'd think we were celebrating Guy Fawkes Day, not St. Pat's.
The Weasil actually bought me a present, a bottle of 10-year-old single malt Bushmills. I needed that with one look at Lois who was actually wearing clothes! She stood behind my wife winking at me! She was dressed in green, R. Linda, like a leprechaun. Her hair was actually combed and she had scrubbed her skin until she shined more than usual. Her cheeks were very red, but so was her nose, I could only guess she had hit the apple jack before coming over.
Weasil had us taking shots before dinner, one right after the other. Mind you the two wives were already three sheets to shiteface. I will say, it didn't take us long to catch up with them. Especially when Lois came and entwined her arm through yours truly's so we could take a shot at the same time. I was quickly putting Tonya in my sight but her back was to me getting soup off the stove.
Tonya had gone all out and had set a grand table, in the kitchen, not the dining room, because she wanted us to be "close and homey" not spread out. So we were elbow to elbow, except in my case where Lois was busy playing footsie under my own table with yours truly trying to remove her foot from sliding up me thigh to a place that should always be relaxed when dinner is being served upon a table, not a bed.
Tonya had found a light green tablecloth with shamrock place mats and a shamrock piece of cloth in the middle of the table with metallic shamrocks, varying-sized metallic dots and coins spread around it. Mandy had brought her a leprechaun made out of a plant (don't ask). Lois had brought a giggle box full of candies filled with Irish Mist chocolates. Every time you opened it, the box would laugh (rolling eyes here). Hell, I be sending along the picture of the table and the plant leprechaun so you can see what I saw. With all the plates on the table, we ended up with sparkles everywhere. By the time dinner was done, I was wearing green and gold sparkles on me face, me clothing, and it was on me plate, and I think I consumed a good deal of metallic because the taste in me mouth the next day was decidedly metallic!
Oh and one thing, I had a lot of metallic that was up around me privates thanks to Lois's foot. My wife said I had a lap full and Lois said under her breath, "More like a foot full," but I was thankfully the only one who heard that.
We had to put on these Mardi Gras-like green necklaces with shamrocks or huge gold coins. My necklace was "special" because it had a shot glass attached to all those metallic shamrocks. And why? Because I am the only "real" Irish one and so I must be the only authentic alcoholic in the room. Mind you my wife and HIS wife were the ones pissed faced and neither are from Ireland, I want you to know.
Anyway, we had Irish potato soup for the first time and my God it was good. Have none left. Of course, that was after the Bushmills shots, so who can say if it was really all that delicious? Then we had the corned beef and cabbage. And yes there was the assortment of Guinness stout and extra stout and those who only drink Heinekins (cowards) -- that would be me wife and Mandy and why not? They drank their fill of Guinness in the early morning hours and well, heaven forbid they should drink it all and leave the only Irishman in the house with a German beer for dinner! For dessert we stayed alcoholic with the cheesecake and topped it all off with Irish coffees, brimming with what else? BUSHMILLS! That any of us could stand up is a miracle. I think it was fun, what I remember of it anyway.
Except for the drunken conversation Weasil had with "the girls." I had no mind who he was referring to when he'd say slurring his words, "My girls, my girls, my girls," and he'd grin away in a lecherous manner and Mandy would giggle. He calls her breasts, his girls. HIS GIRLS for God's sake! And she was no better referring to meeting up with "Willie and the boys" later. Well, let's all name our private parts shall we? Begorrah me, what are they like? Can you just hear the conversation?
"Awww where are my girls?"
"Right here Willie, press the boys on up closer will ya?"
YIKESSSSSSSSSSSS. Nightmare!!!
I had forgotten the whole event of last evening until this morning when I rolled out of bed and found Weasil and his wife on my sofa bed sawing z's. It has taken me all day to do two things. Get rid of my hangover and the Weasils.
A little of the dog that bit me might be wonderful, but all the Guinness be drunk, the Bailey's is empty and I think the cheesecake lurched out the door last night on its own. Sooo, that brings me to YOU. How was your St. Patrick's Day?
Enclosed is a picture of the table BEFORE we messed it up with food.
Gabe
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