Kiss Me I’m Irish Curious

I had just come in from smashing away at the ice that has turned my front walk into a sliding hazard for the past month, and I was feeling pretty manly about it.

“Hulk smash!” might have been uttered multiple times while I was working out some of my Post Traumatic Snow Disorder angst.  It felt good to focus my energy into something destructive yet constructive.

Then another figure in green, who’s much smaller and far less muscular than The Incredible Hulk, burst my bubble of macho.

“You know, laddie, I think I’ve found a solution for ya dating problems,” Seamus announced the second I walked through the front door.

I didn’t know Maine’s lone Leprechaun was inside The House on the Hill, let alone lying in wait in the foyer.  He keeps his pot of gold in my basement bunker, and lets himself in to count his treasure when I’m not around.

“I wasn’t aware I had a dating problem,” was my response as I took off my jacket.

Seamus tapped his shillelagh against the foyer’s hardwood floor and did a little jig as he chuckled at my answer.  “Oh, laddie, ever since that gorgeous lass of yours went off to school, ya dating problem has been that ya ain’t dating!”

He had a point.  Even though I wanted to punt him across the room because I didn’t like the smug look on his face, he was actually correct.

“So what’s this plan of yours?” I asked as I put the ice chipper in the closet.  I tried not to sound like I cared, but a date would be really nice.

“I’m gonna set up a kissing booth at me St. Paddy’s Day party, dress ya in a Kiss Me I’m Irish tee shirt, and have ya man the booth,” he informed me with a mischievous grin.  “There are gonna be so many beautiful Irish lasses at the party.  Which is being held in a bar.  Where the beer will be flowing.  Catch me drift, laddie?”

How could I not catch it?  He was practically beating his point into my brain with his shillelagh.  I just wasn’t sure how I felt about working a kissing booth at Seamus’ party, which was destined to rage wildly out of control as it did every St. Patrick’s Day.

“I don’t know if that’s something I’d be interested in doing,” I admitted as I walked past Seamus and into the living room.

The persistent Leprechaun followed me right to the couch.  “I know ya heart still pines for The Lass Who Moved Away, but maybe it’s time to put that brown eyed, brown haired beauty outta your mind, and focus on a redhead with big green eyes.”

A kiss on St. Patrick’s Day would be nice.  I just wasn’t sure how I felt about multiple kisses with multiple women.

“Kissing a bunch of drunk strangers at your party doesn’t sound very romantic,” I finally blurted out.  Not the most manly line of all time.  What had happened to that mighty beast of testosterone who had just been outside destroying ice like a bad ass?

“This is how ya meet someone new,” Seamus assured me.  “Besides, they won’t all be strangers.  I’m sure that pretty Witch with the crush on ya will be first in line.”

“Ti-Diana…” I mumbled dreamily as I formed a mental picture of what it would be like to kiss the prettiest Witch I’d ever met.

Seamus could sense I was warming up to the idea, and he knew not to push it.  “Kids call it macking.  That sound way more Irish, so I’m gonna call it me Macking Booth.  How do you like that idea, laddie?”

I was still thinking about kissing Ti-Diana, and didn’t hear him.  Seamus chuckled and headed for the basement.  His work with me was done, and he had an overwhelming urge to count his gold…