Lucky Irish

While reading an article last night about fathers and sons, and the lucky Irish bonding,
memories came flooding back to the time,
I took my son out for his first pint. This indeed reflects on my impulse and intentions to start early.
I am proud my son did live up to such high expectations.

Off we went to our local pub only two blocks from the cottage.
I got him a Guinness. He didn't like it, so I drank it.
Then I got him a Kilkenny's, he didn't like that either, so I drank it.
Finally, I thought he might like some Harp Lager?
He didn't. I drank it.
I thought maybe he'd like whiskey better than beer so we tried a Jameson's, nope!
In desperation, I had him try that rare Redbreast, Ireland's finest.
He wouldn't even smell it.
What could I do but drink it!
By the time I realised he just didn't like to drink,
I was so bloody drunk I could hardly push his pram back home. As a damn lucky Irishman my neighbour was around. He helped me a lot to save me from all the embarrassments.

I blessed my stars.

What a day to be Irish.

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