Since mankind first created a definable system of time, summer has been known the world over for the notoriously short romance. This particular summer, mine came in the form of an adorably shaggy haired Irish lad from across the pond. Emphasis on SHORT, seeing as we actually only spent two nights together...but chemistry or pheromones or perhaps his panty wetting accent took a toll on me. While I’m normally realistic and even cynical, once in a while my heart and sex organs just won’t. shut. up. We stayed up till 9 in the morning two days in a row kissing and cuddling, and I was sure he was the love of my life (or weekend).
Irish lad who, for a drunken moment, I may have fantasized about running away to Dublin with, isn’t calling me. I will admit, I was heartbroken for a good 15 minutes. I stole a pint of State Fair Fudge ice cream from work, and sulked in the back room nursing it. A friend finally dragged me out last night through the promise of fun and cheap beer, and something amazingly serendipitous happened; right behind me while I was in line to do shots of Jack, was a different shaggy haired boy from, you guessed it...Ireland. I’d seen the ending to this movie before; but there is something amazingly comforting in knowing that there’s always another cute Irish boy just around the corner. I think I will be just fine, but my heart will still drop at the thought of the one who got away every time I dig into a bowl of Lucky Charms. Gosh, I love it when my rational side finally kicks the shit out of my romantic side.
Irish Guy Two who called me a model at the bar (awww, how sweet, I love lies!) did something Irish Guy One could not; he called me back. And he wants to, get this, see me on another occasion! Is this a shameless attempt to carry out the foreign boy summer fling I had all but given up hope on? Yes, yes absolutely. Is it much more awesome to have a back up Irish boy than it is to continue pining over the first one? I don’t think I even need to dignify that with an answer.
If I had to pick the hands down, absolutely best thing about being a young single woman, it would be not having to regularly shave your legs. But the second thing would have to be the fact that life is constantly moving. Yeah, the ride gets bumpy. And sometimes nauseating. But there’s always a new thrill around the corner, a new chance for experience, and a new opportunity for shameless fun. While I love my coupled gf’s, their tales of checking out a new Thai restaurant with the mister can get less than enthralling. They get stability, I get adventure. In a perfect world, we’d all get both, but let’s not be greedy; one or the other is a pretty fair trade.
So instead of using my tongue to lick my wounds, I’ll be using it to open mouth kiss a cute young Irish fellow. (Again). All I know about him as that he has an accent, he likes The Who, and he has an accent. And that’s all I really need to know to get pretty excited. Shameless summer fling with a foreign boy...take two.