Different Folks-Same Strokes

NATASHA  O'LEARY

 

Natasha Slavana O'Leary loves Smirnoff vodka. It can have almond flavoring, peach, orange. It matters not, she loves whatever the salesman in O'Rourke's Public Pub suggests she taste. She also loves her husband, Breandan O'Leary. Many days, many nights she fights her conscience. When she has had enough Smirnoff she knows she will end up in a big, black, bottomless hole and makes a good decision. She bends, gets down on her knees and prays to St. Olav to save her, destroy the Smirnoff factory.

 

Breandan fixes cool compresses for her brow, tries to get her to eat a few slices of roast lamb. She does try but soon vomits on his checked wool pants. He has washed those pants so many times they have faded to nothingness.

 

'Breandan, I can't find my Munchkin friends. Gladys and Freda must be hiding. If you find them, I won't drink any more Smirnoff Vodka. I promise.' Breandon knows too well her promises are snowflakes, melt before they touch the trees. Still he goes in search of her imagined friends. 'Natasha, Gladys is sleeping near the bridge and Freda is sitting there near the water's edge taking care of Gladys so she doesn't fall in the river. Now come, Darling. I will fix you a lamb burger and you will feel better.' Natasha kisses her husband passionately and they go up to bed. She forgets about the Munchkins, the lamb burger and just practices being the good wife.

 

Breandon is getting close to the end of his patience and decides to look around at what else is on the market. He lies to himself, saying it would only be a whim, and looks over the young ladies when he goes looking in O'Rourke's Public Pub. A raven haired knock-out waggles past him, gives him a friendly wink. His face turns red. His excitement rises to a high pitch. She takes a seat at the bar where there happen to be two stools empty next to each other. He looks at her dark Irish eyes and then down her blouse.  She orders a really special drink, Bushman's light whiskey. The bartender asks Breandon if he wants the same. 'Sure,' he says even though he has no idea what it is like. It turns out to be very light, has no smokey taste at all. Down the hatch go both drinks. It is so smooth he orders another shot and his companion says, 'double it.'

 

An out-dated juke box  accepts the new Irish Euro coins, the ones with the harps on them. Breandon happens to have a few in his pocket, starts the music flowing. 'Damn' he cusses. The noise is an old Irish jig.'
He's angry, complains to the manager, wants his Euro back. He doesn't get it but has the bartender puts another bowl of pretzels in front of his  bar stool and waits for another shot.

 

Incorrectly, Breandon thinks this is an omen. He was about ready to break his wedding vows with Natasha. There are just a few drops of Bushman's light in his glass. They slide down his throat like a toboggan headed for the finish line. As he stands, leaves a tip for the bartender, he also tips his hat to the lovely lady with the lovely boobs still sitting on the bar stool. She barely turns her head as she says to him, 'Thanks for almost nothin.'

 

He hadn't noticed when he came in to the bar that up front is a large case of dozens of Irish Brand whiskeys.  No desire for another drink, — yet Natasha might be in need. He doesn't have to look too hard in the wall case because while he blinked a salesman appeared and took care of him. Breandon bought a quart that went in a large, sturdy paper bag, just about emptied his pockets to cover the cost.

 

As he walks toward his house where Natasha is probably soused, lying in bed waiting for him, he whistles 'Ireland, My Ireland'. He finds her where he expected her to be, on the bed, her hands still holding her empty bottle of Smirnoff. Gently he removes it, drops it in the trash can and slides the new bottle of Bushman's Irish blend into her semi-closed fist.

 

They will be lovers forever, partners all the way. He smiles, unties his shoes and kicks them under the bed. Erin go Brae!