He arrived in a cloud of bravado – replete with kilt, bagpipes and a brusque manner.
His faux brogue, and canned Irish quips were as welcomed as the cacophony from his bona fide, squeaky, bagpipes.
Siobhan thought he was the epitome of charisma. Kelly and Kathleen, the twins, were beguiled by his elan. His legs weren’t bad either.
As the day unfolded, and more Irish Coffees were passed around the room, the dilettante playing barkeep- kept filling trays with shots of Bushmill’s.
The man in the kilt grew more attractive. The camaraderie of the clan- all wearing shades of green and all manner of cliche Irish memorabilia- intensified. Capricious kissing and flagrant flirting were an anomaly – seen rarely – on weeknights and always on March 17th – St Patricks Day. Slainte!