Monday, July 7, 2008

Irish Chicks dig me

It's amazing how many Irish chicks stop me on the street! But it shouldn't be a surprise. after all, we live in Woodside, NY which is part of the borough of Queens--a section of New York City. But what Woodside is most famous for is the Irish that come to settle there not long after arriving in New York from the Emerald Isle.

So...last night dad and mom got in late and dad took me for my walk at about 1:45 AM (which was great because I was holding it in!). We passed The Cuckoo's Nest Pub and a young Irish women caught my eye and came running over to me so excited to see the likes of little ole me. I'm hot! What can I say?

In her thick Irish brogue she told me that I was just gorgeous (which seems to be the adjective that most Irish women use to describe me). She then went on to ask the usual questions:

How old is he?
What's his name?
How much does he weigh?

By the way, if I asked her the weight and age questions, I'd be liable to get a smack!

Then she told me that she had never seen a real, live chihuahua. That she only had seen them on TV and that she thought it was "tragic" that people like Paris Hilton keep us chihuahuas in their purses. (Agreed, but I do like Dad's knapsack and my crate!) She continued:

"He's so cute...I've seen these on TV but I never knew they were this gorgeous!"

Dad: "Yep. I didn't think I'd ever own a chihuahua because I thought they were ugly Paris Hilton dogs. But when I saw him, I thought he was a lot cuter than other chihuahua's I've seen before."

Irish chick: "Just grand he is. Back home in Donegal (pronounced Dun-EE-Gall) we had a dog. He was a...a...a...oh shit, I don't know...what was he? Like Lassie!"

Dad: "A collie!"

Irish chick: "(Laughs) Yes! That's right! (giggle) Sorry it's 2AM and I've been drinking."

It was then that I got "the look." I've referred to this before. Dad gives me a look almost every time a woman stops me and fawns all over me. The look is classic. It basically is translated: "Where were you when I was single and drunk, cute, Irish women never paid attention to me at 2AM?"

I believe that this is the part that dad informs you that he loves mom immensely and that Mediterranian Italian women are far more beautiful than blue-eyed Irish women anyway. And that there could never be anyone more suited for him than mom. In all seriousness, he's right. Mom's wonderful--not only does she take good care of us--she's so beautiful and she is a perfect partner for dad.

Regardless, dad has started to call me "Mr. Personality" on our late night walks. He keeps forgetting the blasted camera to take pictures of the people who we run into.

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