IRISHMAN FOR HIRE

I am a connoisseur of unstylish and ugly sunglasses. I love them; the uglier the pair, the better. When I lose a pair of sunglasses, I almost can’t wait to buy a new pair just to see what intricate and unfashionable new designs they have come up with lately. But let me digress for a minute because I am getting way ahead of myself; the reason for my admission above started last week in what has turned into a common ritual in our home.

“Stephanie, have you seen my sunglasses?” I asked as I started tearing our house apart.

“No. Where did you have them last?”

“I put them on the dining room table.”

“Are you sure you put them on the dining room table?”

“I am positive.”

“Then they should be on the dining room table.”

“If they were on the dining room table, would I be asking you if you knew where they were?! Obviously someone moved them.”

“Or maybe you lost them again!”

“I did not lose them again, they were right here on the table!!”

“Sure they were,” Stephanie responded as she left the room. “You keep thinking that and I am sure they will turn up right where you left them.”

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“It’s cold, brrrrr, it’s cold, argh, it’s freezing, argh! ARGH!!!”

That was me screaming like a school child in the shower two years ago on an ordinary Thursday morning. After taking my ice cold shower, I toweled off and headed out of the bathroom only to be taunted and laughed at by my wife and children.

“How’s your shower, Daddy?” asked one of the kids. I mumbled something evil and undecipherable under my breath as I continued to go back to my bedroom to start the rest of my morning.

“I didn’t even whine that much when I took my shower this morning, tough guy,” my wife quipped when I came back into the kitchen and headed for the coffee maker to pour myself a gigantic cup of coffee.

“Isn’t everyone a little comedian this morning?” I responded. “Well, we’ll see who’s laughing when no one gets any allowance this week, won’t we?”

I am not what one would call “a morning person” and I am even more of a bear if I don’t have a hot shower in the morning to help wake me up. It’s the hot water and nothing else that helps me shake off the cobwebs and get the day started. Unfortunately for me, the cold shower I had two years ago was directly related to an issue with my Natural Gas Company.

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It has already started; the weather has gotten hot and the requests to go to the beach are starting to become a daily request. My wife, Stephanie, just got the beach sticker for the car and the children can’t wait to run and jump in the sand every single day of the summer vacation. And once again, I have renewed my annual quest to find one woman in the world that does not like the beach; just to prove a balance in the universe actually exists.

My search has taken me through many informal observations to find “the one!” I have spent years sifting through personal ads in the newspaper trying to prove that somewhere in the world there was a woman who couldn’t stand the beach. Her existence is crucial because it would be a sign that there may be a way for guys to escape the standard relationship trap of having to go through the sandy torture of the beach just to make a potential mate happy. But, alas, time and time again, in every personal ad I read, all I could find was the standard quote that stated without a doubt the simple fact that, “I (the woman) like romantic walks on the beach…” Yuck! Sickening! Gross!

What is romantic about walking on the beach? Sand gets on everything; on your feet, in your socks, in your shoes, and if we imagine for a moment where the “romantic walks” might lead to romantically, one could end up with sand in some very embarrassing and unpleasant places.

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Chloe and I were sitting on the floor playing with some of her toys when Stephanie came back from the store. Chloe decided she wanted to help her mom in the kitchen and ran into to see what she could do, so I sat down at the table and took a look at the newspaper. While I was skimming through the headlines, Chloe said to Stephanie, “My favorite part of the day is spending time with my Papa.”

My heart melted instantly as I looked up from what I was reading and listened to the rest of their conversation.

“Your favorite part of the day is spending time with your Papa?” Stephanie asked.

“Yeah.”

“You know, your Papa loves spending time with you too, Chloe.”

“Yeah, I know. He’s the good guy,” Chloe responded.

“He’s the good guy?!” Stephanie chuckled.

“Yeah,” Chloe said. Then she ran over to me at the table and said, “You’re the good guy, Papa!”

I gave Chloe a big hug and told her, “One of my favorite parts of the day is spending time with my Chloe.”

“I know,” she said matter-of-factly and ran off to play in the living room with her dolls.

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