Pluck of the Irish

The other day, my good friend and I went to dinner and got chatted up by an old, drunk guy. He had about three teeth and reeked of alcohol. Every time he went out to smoke, he insisted on starting a conversation. He asked where I was from and when I told him I was from the States, he said he was glad I wasn’t Australian. I guess he’s had bad luck with them.

As I was reflecting on the fact that I somehow seem able to attract old men, but not young ones, I remembered an experience I’d had in Ireland with my mom and dad. When my parents came, we each decided on one thing we had to do while we were in Ireland. My mom wanted to so to a cathedral, dad wanted a proper roast dinner, and I wanted to get chatted up by an Irishman. I realized it was going to be a tough sell, since I had my mom and dad with me. I’ve found that’s generally a pretty big deterrent when it comes to being chatted up. Unfortunately, through most of the trip, it held true. Not a single cute Irish guy even tried. I’m pretty sure there were loads that wanted to, but we’ll never know. Then, the last night, we decided to go out for some proper Irish music. The place we chose had a restaurant with proper tables and such, along with a proper bar with stools. The restaurant section was full of tourists so we went to the bar section where there were a few stools available. The bar had a doorway through which we could see the stage area where the performers were sitting. There weren’t enough stools for the three of us, so I stood near the doorway. As I was standing there, I could feel that someone was watching me. I couldn’t figure out who it was because there were only old people there. I chanced a glance toward the bar and met the eye of a man who I came to find out was the most delusional man I’ve ever met.

Let me paint you a picture of this man. He had to be fifty-something. He was wearing wellies with his jeans tucked in. He had paired that with a blazer and a flat cap. If I’m honest, he was kind of good-looking. Anyway, I could tell he was looking at me, but I did my best not to encourage it, because really there was nothing that was going to come of it. As the evening progressed, I got the feeling that he was going to come talk to me. I told my mom that if she weren’t standing there right next to me, he’d be chatting me up. She didn’t believe me. To be fair, mom and I haven’t ever been to a bar or club together, so she’s not really familiar with the way things work out there. She thought that because he was an old man, he wouldn’t give it a shot.

So imagine her surprise when later that evening, he did indeed give it a shot. I had moved back to the doorway and mom and dad were hanging back against the wall. It took him about five seconds to make his move. He came over and struck up a conversation. His breath reeked of cigarettes and alcohol and he had horrible teeth, but there was actually something quite charming about him. We chatted a bit about the music and then he wanted to know why I was in Ireland. I was a little bit uncomfortable flirting with my parents standing there watching it all, but it was kind of funny. We were just in the middle of chatting casually when he asked me if I was going clubbing that night. Of all the questions I never would have expected, that probably topped the list. I couldn’t believe he was actually serious. And just what would have happened if I had said I was? Could he seriously be considering coming with me or something? Was he insane? Luckily, I had the excuse of having to leave in the morning. Dodged a bullet there. Then he looked at me and said in his lovely Irish accent, “You’re a gorgeous woman.” I was of course flattered and pretty gutted that my parents were there. Who knows what could have happened if they hadn’t been.