Friday, May 05, 2006

Limey B*st*rd

It's the same feeling I used to have doing knick-knacks all those years ago - total spazzed hysterical fear ridden hilarity - if I must put it into words.

Following dinner in a Phibsboro eaterie, nice it was too, we decided to walk home. Had a lovely chat with the off-licence lady and she advised me that limes weren't available there, but my Corona might find it's bitter companion in a pub or a local shop or something.

Sun was shining, but there were no limes to be had all the way home. We chatted and smiled in the sun, and then we were nearly home.

There's a pub at the end of my road that we're both a bit scared of, and I think he was bored of stopping in every shop in my quest for limes. Let's face it, his Sam Adam's is just dandy without it anyway.

He's across the street, tapping his foot impatiently. There's the pub and nothing else between me and my beer.

Scr*w it, I think, and push open the door, imagining that if I weren't so shortsighted I would see his jaw hitting the pavement as I walk into the pub we're a bit scared of.

Inside I suddenly realise that it is full of men. Little ones, big ones, old, young, poor, angry, sad, men, men, men. The pub seems bigger and bigger. Men stretch away into the distance like one of those trick mirror infinity situations.

My breasts seem bigger, my hair seems longer, my accent seems posher. The fear is growing.

I stride quickly to the bar, and the men stare.

Behind the bar there's a little tiny bar boy type creature and I say, 'can I buy a lemon please', as in a flash of inspiration I realise that this bar full of men and sadness and weariness is not going to stock any lime unless it is that which resides in a cordial bottle.

He squeaks incoherently, or maybe my ears have stopped functioning.

The men stare.

A big man comes to the small man's aid.

'Can I help you'

He says.

The men that were selling tickets to the other men, and the men who are not full of sadness listen intently.

'I'd like to buy a lemon please' I say, 'that's if you have one' I add in a helpful fashion.

He looks at me.

'A lemon?' he says

'Mnfewpophrm' I think I say, suddenly wishing the ordeal would end.

'Here' he says, and tosses one to me

Years of missing and I catch.

'How much is it?' I ask

'You can have it' he says

'Thanks I say' as he nods

I leave the bar trying not to run, but it feels like a driveway years ago, and as I leave the big huge pub and go away from all those men, outside, I'm bursting, like I was years ago, to tell someone, to laugh.

I walk across the road, tossing the lemon in the air, and the sun is shining, I could be walking back victorious in a game of kick the can.

bars are also great for asking for a bag of ice!
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