I recently met a charming Irish fellow at 4 a.m. at Carol’s. Taking a bit of my own advice, I actually did opt to have a phone conversation and confirmed he had a brogue and that my drunken ears had not betrayed me. He was rather sweet and funny and, for once, I found myself looking forward to our date.
We had a great time! He was a gentleman but had an air of mischief about him, which I happen to find irresistible. Though I was a little upset he did not show up with a pot of gold and some green knickers, I still managed to have fun.
After dinner we decided to go for another drink at a nearby bar. When discussing our birthdays, we discovered we both had been born in March. I tried to guess his and opted for March 16. “Actually, I was born on the 17th,” he stated.
My very intelligent response? “Oh! Too bad you weren’t born on St. Patrick’s Day.”
His forehead wrinkled in confusion as he warily responded, “I was born on St. Patrick’s Day.”
Hmm. My memory is not what is used to be, obviously. I’m usually pretty good at remembering the dates of holidays that celebrate drinking. You know, like Easter, Arbor Day, Columbus Day, that kind of thing.
Trying to redeem myself, I then said with a smile (hoping my dimples distracted from my stupidity), “Being born on St. Patrick’s Day, I’m surprised your parents didn’t name you Patrick.”
At this, his eyes bugged out like a cartoon character as he shook his head incredulously and said, “They did! My name IS Patrick!”
My jaw dropped to the floor in disbelief. I didn’t how to respond and instead hoped the sounds of the crickets chirping would somehow morph themselves into some sort of jig so I could entertain him with my dance skills. “What in the hell did you think my name was?” he asked.
Mayday! Mayday! We’re going down! Tell my family I love them!
All along I thought his name was Paul. In my defense, it is close to Patrick. But Paul is not Patrick.
He had a good sense of humor about the situation, but I was so embarrassed I could barely get through the remainder of the evening.
STOP meeting men at 4 a.m. in bars and thinking it will go anywhere other than a hot tub, breakfast the next day and likely a STD clinic the following week. It just doesn’t happen. Especially when you can’t even remember your charming date’s name! You look like a drunken idiot, which is not in any way enticing. Unless you are a slutty, drunken idiot, in which case, there’s still a chance!
Have I told you about my Strip Tease dance classes? ……..