Top o’ the mornin’ to ya, me boyos and bonnie lassies! Unless it’s later in which case- Bottom o’ the evenin’ to ya! Or if yer reading falls somewhere in between then- howdy f***in do!
This week, in honor of the upcoming sainted day of Patrick, we’ll spin ye a yarn of a Patties Day past. One which I was sober enough to recall and now recite- which are few and far between. And coincidentally, it just happens to be the one where a leprechaun was apprehended.
So, pull up a chair. Grab ye a pint. And let the green brew keep flowing till it’s gone, or we are.
First off, it’d be best if- where leprechauning is concerned, you wipe your mind of all the Hollywood horror hullabaloo. Leprechauns are diminutive Irish folklore fairies. Who live a solitary existence, cobble shoes as a hobby and covet gold. They are neither evil nor good, but fond of mischief. If captured a leprechaun must grant three wishes to his captor. Which is where our story ends.
Where it begins is a pub in Dublin. Okay, it was actually a bar in Hickory. But I’d consumed enough alcohol to be feeling quite Irish at the time.
Throughout the evening there’d been a bearded wee fellow in a green Irish cap and frock coat troubling around the bar. Upsetting pool cues, tipping beer bottles over and the like. Now I hold no qualms against hijinks of the vertically challenged. But it does become an issue when you’re the only one that can see said pipsqueak perpetrator.
That optional illusion decided that there was enough beer in me. Thus, out into the parking lot I staggered. And the little figamentation of my imagiganation followed.
Upon reaching what was assumed to be my vehicle, keys were absent. There was a jingling sound, and I turned to see the little green bastich waving them around. Then pitch them into the bushes with a grinning “oopsie” expression. That’s okay, as I was too drive to drunk anyway.
Fine, whatever, I’ll just walk home… 15 miles. Yeah, more like 15 feet. Before emitting a technicolor-yawn and crashing to the pavement.
When I came to the little fella was looking at me with sincere concern. “Are ye alright laddie?” he inquired. Weakly nodding and motioning for a hand up my response. He obliged and that’s when I grabbed him.
Surprisingly he gave no struggle and with a sigh asked- “Would ye be wanting me wishes three now?” “A beers is my wish!” was my response. Cuz I was drunk and most of what I’d drunk was on the ground over there.
He took the erred plural and made it so. Such a plethora and variety of bottled beverages appeared. There was no need to wish for an opener- I carried a spare.
He stood back as I popped a bottle and I second wished for whatever he was having. Cuz it’s sad to drink alone. And POOF! There was a pint of Guinness extra stout.
With surprise at my generosity, he toasted me- “May you have the hindsight to know where you’ve been, the foresight to know where you are going, and the insight to know when you have gone too far.” Then we drank.
How long we sat drinking, talking and laughing I could not say. Ergo there was a touch of remorse when our departure was imminent. Law enforcement has a way of dispersing individuals seen or otherwise come the dawn.
As I started to leave there was a tug at my pant leg- “Ye’ve still got one wish left laddie.” I knew exactly what was required. I spread my arms wide in a grand gesture and said- “Leprechaun… I wish you free!” At this he laughed “Me boyo you aren’t Aladdin and I ain’t no genie… I’m already free. Now seriously, what is yer heart’s desire… no tricks… I promise.”
That was quite sobering. For just a moment the consideration of a certain red-haired gal flitted through my brain. But why wish for the inevitable.
After another moment of consideration – “I wish we could do this again sometime.” He smiled and with a nod of recognition faded into the sunrise… whist I promptly passed out. Have a Happy St. Patrick’s Day!
I welcome almost all questions, comments via Focus, or E-mail me at wanderingchainsaw@gmail.com. Hope to hear from ya, until then try and stay focused! See ya.
