Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
“Dad, you hear how that is not better, dontchu?” Colin teasingly questions.
More laughter bounces around the table prior to menu browsing beginning. There are brief discussions about what to order; however, I know that it’s going to end the same way it always does. Everyone is going to order fish and chips because they have a whole fried food is the best food while drinking policy given by granddad to my dad and his brothers that they have passed down to all of us.
The long shot glasses begin to appear in front of us about the time the aforementioned conclusion is made. We order food, a round of Guinness for everyone – except Harper who decides to stick with water after we share one shot – and send off the male I get the feeling Colin will tip extra well in his own way.
“What’s in this?” Uncle Rory inquires, lifting it up in suspicion. “It looks like Shrek’s piss.”
“Why do you assume he pees green?” Harper good-naturedly taunts.
“Probably the same reason he assumes Smurfs shit blue,” Colin answers on a crooked grin. “Dad lacks imagination.”
“Oh, I was doing the things you young fellas do now when I was graduating primary school, so don’t tell me I lack bloody imagination, you squirt of the old cock.” Uncle Rory’s announcement has us all laughing, although I’m fairly sure Harper’s is done in shock. “I did what you’ve done bigger, better, and twice as often.”
“A birthday toast,” Dad lifts his shot glass, doing his best not to let the booze spill out while he continues to chuckle, “to my son. May you enjoy the years that lead up to having your own lad who you will one day remind exists because of a squirt from your own cock.”
“Here, here!” we echo in response to his words before clinking and drinking.
Lucky for me I already know what I’m in for with the drink.
My bartending knowledge is more extensive than the average waiter’s; however, being Irish in America – who goes out of their way to create outrageous St. Patty’s Day drinks – I’ve been fortunate enough to build up quite a catalog as well as an appreciation for the themed beverages that don’t really exist outside of high traffic touristy areas.
Which is something my sweet girlfriend knows and something I feel like she’s going to use for the evening.
There’s a collective grunt of approval out of my family, yet it’s Uncle Rory who smacks to further inform us all of his enjoyment. “Can’t hate it. What’s in it?”
Answering is effortless for me. “Irish whiskey, Bailey’s, and Crème de Menthe.”
Uncle Rory nods once more in satisfaction and slides the glass towards the middle. “Tourist shite?”
“Absolutely.”
Harper curiously inquires, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Tourists pay for fun and expensive shite for the experience,” Dad casually explains, “while your real Irishmen – or women – want what’s cheapest and going to get them drunk the fastest.”
Uncle Rory enthusiastically nods in agreement. “Shite you should keep in mind if you really do start your own pub, nephew.”
I didn’t plan to mention it.
Especially not with it just being an active idea for the time being.
Too bad my girlfriend is so bloody supportive that it just sort of fell out of my mouth over the full Irish breakfast with everyone this morning.
“You learn a thing or twelve when your family runs one of the most successful tourist companies in Dublin,” Dad broadcasts to everyone in earshot. “And I may be in construction now, but I was born and bred in tourism.”
The rounds of Guinness arrive at the table at the same time Harper suggests, “How about I order you all another round of ‘touristy’ drinks and then you tell me some funny tourist stories?”
“You,” Colin flicks a finger her direction, “I like. And you,” he tosses a lick lip the direction of our waiter, “I really like.”
Bryan blushes under the words and my cousin’s stare alike, nearly spilling the pint he places in front of me.
Flirting and confidence are the keys to being an O’Clery.
Family oriented is a not so hidden important trait as well.
Harper orders another round of shots that she knows I like – Lucky Leprechauns – and I show off my library of booze knowledge once more. Jokes regarding who names the drinks leads to conversations about weird things tourists from all around the world think when they arrive in my birth country. They tell her numerous tales about traveling, explaining how it runs in the blood. How granddad took that love and turned it into a profitable business that no one else expected to succeed. We eat and drink and my girlfriend learns about my family lineage while I simply get pissed on the flowing alcohol as much as the kinship that I miss thanks to an ocean between us.