Wicked O'Reilly

First of all, let’s get it right, I like things said about me to be correct, let's start as I mean to go on. I’m not a dwarf or a gnome or as I’ve heard The Gingerbread Man, I mean seriously what planet are some people on. I am an elf. I will also accept leprechaun, people seem to use one or the other and they are the two labels I will accept.  How hard is that to grasp? Tough for some it seems. In addition, my name is Patrick, not Paddy or Grumpy, and most definitely not Happy. I have never worn green and never will as it can clash with my gloriously long, luxurious, opulent ginger beard. No, the only colour I ever wear are various shades of red, all kinds, so you may call it what you will with glorious gold buttons which sparkle and glitter in the sunlight.  My hat is also red and yes it does usually have a belt buckle right in the center. The fascination of human beings with my attire never fails to fascinate me in turn. 

Although the treasure chest stories are true, I do not spend my days working on people's thread-worn, holey shoes. Thank you, though, for allowing me to live comfortably off its profits. Additionally, I have never used the much-used phrase "Top of the morning, to ya." I've never understood it, and I dislike expressing things that I don't fully understand.

I adore solitude, I always love being by myself, so when people come looking for the bag at the end of the rainbow, I take them on a merry, uncomfortable, difficult journey they're not likely to repeat. The Hamster Wheel debacle was my favorite disaster, a fiasco, as I created and masterminded that contraption with my mind and built it with my bare hands. That day if you had seen me, you most likely would have been inclined to call me Happy. I nearly wet myself laughing watching grown, supposedly mature men push and shove each other, I may have been unable to help myself if you had seen me and given you a giggle, which is a rare treat. 

I also adored the time I borrowed a Chihuahua and dressed it up as a deer and myself as Santa the stories that went around about how small Santa and Rudolph were tickled my funny bone for weeks, ah I did laugh. A whole new myth and legend ran rife around the forests and hills. No dog was safe as the cleverer, more ingenious, resourceful kids tried to make their own adventure and attempted to fly, many a creature was run ragged and ended up exhausted. Since lottery tickets are bought for the same reason, fewer and fewer tourists are now chasing the unreachable pot of gold. The government, not me, is dancing with them, even though they all have the same goal. It’s like musical chairs the first one to stop circling and sit down and take a moment, usually wins.

 Although as I have said already solitude is my preferred, ideal condition, I occasionally get paid to show myself by the tourism board.  There would be a lot fewer visitors to our fabulous lush and green isle especially the Yankees if they didn’t believe they had the opportunity myself to espy. I also must leak some of my gold now and again, but the tourist board has the good grace to keep it topped up along with my many pints of Guinness. Yep, I’m living the life of Reilly as they say, and my naughty, wicked side adds the O. Yep, it was plain Reilly until every time the boss heard of my antics, he nearly always said Oh. So, they started calling me Patrick O’Reilly eventually. I quite like the O it gives me a certain ring which I really appreciate. When the head is submerged in Guinness, I have often considered finding a Mrs. O'Reilly, but I wake up the following morning green, and as previously stated, that color does not suit me well. I quickly regain my senses when I look in the mirror. No, I’ll stick with the ring I got when they added the O; that’s enough for me, thank you very much.

Ah, I see a fresh batch of gobshites, getting off the coach they look like village idiots the lot of them, should be easy to keep the legend alive. I don’t need a calendar to tell me the reason for their visit, easy to see why they are here. They are all clad in various shades of green. Paddy’s Day must be coming, surely. For flips sake, it’s time for me to get busy, when Spring is sprung my leisure time on the shelf is hung, no more free time for a while for me. They look ripe for the fleecing, ready for a party, and I’m excited about the prospect, I can see a load of hangovers on my horizon, yippee.

I go home to make sure I’m in tip-top shape, beautifying myself so that I’m a vision to behold. The aim is to have them all talking about me. I stand in front of the mirror and brush my gorgeous beard within an inch of its life and give it a tiny trim around the edges. I also pluck my eyebrows, ears, nostrils and shave my toes. You are never sure what lady I could meet, mightn’t want to get married, but every now and again even I deserve a one-night treat. I’m as fabulous as I get, gawd I’m even making myself wet, I’m a good-looking being, if I say so myself.

I’ll leave you with a good aul Irish saying -

“May the Irish hills caress you.

May her lakes and rivers bless you.

May the luck of the Irish enfold you.

May the blessings of Saint Patrick behold you.”

Now I raise you a glass of the black stuff and if you were here, I’d look you in the eye, but for now, it’s goodbye and I’m off on my merry way, “Sláinte.”