Joe Leprechaun

Writer's Cramp: In honor of St. Patrick's Day, write a FUNNY story or poem that includes a leprechaun, a shamrock, green beer, and a first date that goes very wrong!

Joe Leprechaun

         To say that he was sexy was the understatement of the year. He was frankly gorgeous, and I salivated over his body. Yet there was something strange about him which I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Sure, it was St. Patrick’s Day, and maybe I was a little drunk on green beer, but there seemed more to it than that.

         I guess I should back up and fill you in on the details... My name used to be Casey O'Connor. I was twenty-three, single, and looking for Mr. Right. Then I met a guy on the Internet -- which I knew was not too bright, but we were just having beers in the local bar, and it was all very public. The problem is it grew into a lot more than that...

         Now any girl would have been happy to be with Joe Leprechaun the way he looked, but there was something about him that set off all my warning bells. First of all, who ever heard of such a name? He laughed when I questioned him about it, then his eyes got a little out of focus, and he glanced over at the wall, avoiding my glance. His behavior was kind of suspicious, but I was new at this dating thing. I just thought he was nervous.

         I managed to see his driver’s license when the waitress asked for proof of his age. Joe wasn’t telling any lies. That really was his name. He took a good picture, too. I continued questioning.

         “So, how did you get a last name like Leprechaun?" I pressed on.

         “It was my dad’s,” he offered with a smile that almost unseated me.

         Perfect teeth -- whiter than the ones in a toothpaste commercial, were robbing me of my equilibrium. I finished off my beer, and then I laughed at his joke, but I continued to probe. “But most names have an origin. My last name’s O’Connor. We trace back to ..."

         "The famous O’Connor’s," Joe interrupted, laughing. “We Leprechauns know all about the O’Connor’s. Your family used to hunt shamrocks in the lower valleys of Ireland, and you probably still chase the little folks all about the hills.”

         “We aren’t that bad,” I protested, almost bolting up to leave.

         “Sit down, Casey. I’m only teasing you. You’re the one that brought up ancient history. Let’s talk about tonight and how we want to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day.”

         I wasn’t sure that I wanted to go anywhere with Joe. His green suit was rather an eyesore. Shimmering like a peacock’s neck, it bothered me; it didn’t look like real material. I wished I were brave enough to give it a feel, but I’d only just met Joe. I couldn’t exactly ask to check the texture of his suit.

          Joe and I had been e-mailing and Instant Messaging for months. He’d always been proper and polite in his words to me. He was everything and everyone I'd ever dreamed of, yet in person, it was all so different. I was suddenly uneasy.

         I took a sip of the new mug of beer Joe'd ordered me. I no longer shuddered from the taste of it, even though I normally wasn't a drinker. Colas were more my thing, but Joe had insisted. Green beer was a tradition, he’d explained, and without a chance to argue, my order had been taken and delivered. By the second beer, I was getting used to the taste.

         Joe continued to talk, and I attempted to listen, but the room started to spin, and I felt very peculiar.

         “Tell me about your day,” I said, giggling slightly and staring up into Joe's deep, emerald eyes.

         The smile inside his eyes made the beer churn in my stomach. I couldn't tell if I was sick -- or falling in love.

         Joe nodded, took a sip of his beer, and then leaned closer toward me. “My dear Casey, I hardly remember my day. Your name was on my lips every moment, and all the thoughts you’d written to me these many months frolicked with my sanity. I couldn’t concentrate on anything -- except this meeting. Was it like that for you?”

         I swallowed hard. Briefly I tried to pull away from the greenness of his eyes, but I was lost in them. What self-assurance I once possessed swept off faster than a leaf tossed into the wind.

         Joe smiled even broader. My stomach muscles clenched, but I knew I wasn't the least bit sick. I felt wonderful. My lips moved themselves closer to him.

         Joe took advantage. His mouth tasted mine, then he stood, and pulled me up in front of him. The impact of his full body against mine was the undertow that swept me into consent.

         In a moment, we headed to my place. If I’d had the chance to back away, I’m sure I would have taken it, but the taxi sped us to my apartment so quickly Joe’s lips never released mine.

         Yet at my door, when I took in a deeper breath, doubt once more besieged me. “Joe, I don’t think this..."

         Magic is not fictitious. It's in a kiss like the one Joe gave me. Then somehow the door opened, and Joe carried me in. The bed was only the next step.

         But magic is only an illusion. When it was over, Joe began to shrink in more places than one, and before my eyes, he turned into a wee, green leprechaun no bigger than the height of my knee.

         “Ah, O’Connor, ‘twas a sweet night, my pretty one," he said laughing wildly. He fiddled me a song while dancing about the room. Then he kissed me deeply and left behind a pot of gold in the corner of my room and a wee one in my belly.

         My leprechaun husband now flits back and forth from his home in the caves of the wee ones near Dublin. Sometimes he takes me sliding on the rainbows arched across the sky. And once he let me wish on the pot of gold. I wished ... ah, but I can't tell you. I can only say that in our bed, the nights are magical . . .

         And now, forevermore, I'll have the luck of the Irish. And that is a good thing, but I warn you, if you don't fancy a wee, green little husband, never date a man from the Internet or drink green beer with a stranger -- especially on St. Patrick's Day!

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