It was Saint Patrick's Day, which is a drinking holiday unto itself, but combine it with my birthday and it's really a reason to celebrate. I was out at the local Irish pub with two of my girlfriends because they thought it was the best thing that total strangers would buy me more drinks than I could ever think of consuming just for the simple fact that my birthday landed on Saint Patrick's Day. They even thanked my mother for this every year, the drunks that they are.
We were sitting at the bar, which was packed with fellow drunks, who, even if they weren't Irish, they were for the day. The music was loud, the crowd was even louder. People kept coming in and it seemed like no one ever left. I was watching the door because, well my girlfriends had found a couple of guys and I was kinda being ignored and left out of the conversation going around the group. At least I didn't have to worry about a ride home since I only lived a few blocks away. I knew after a few more rounds, the girls were going home with these guys no matter what.
The door opened and three guys wearing kilts walked in. I'm talking full kilt get up. Leave it to guys not to mind wearing the same outfit as all the other guys. A woman would never be caught dead doing that. I guess the only empty spot near the bar in the place was next to me. At least maybe I'd have some one to talk to. As the three guys placed their beer orders, the bartender was kind enough to inform them it was my birthday. They, of course, like most of the rest of the bar, insisted on buying me a drink. Unlike the 30 or so beers before them, these guys decided to buy me an Irish Car Bomb. I knew I was gonna be fun in the morning after this.
We toasted to my birthday and Ireland then they introduced themselves. The one closest to me was Sean. He was a big boy. If he was a woman and that fat, he'd be wearing a muumuu and not a kilt. He was a little arrogant and defiantly not my type at all. He was the kind of guy who walked in a room and you just knew without even letting him open his mouth, he had the word "asshole" stamped on his forehead in invisible ink, and if the neon lights from the bar hit it just right, you could see it blinking.
The next guy's name was Brian. He was kinda cute in that puppy dog way. He was the guy who was friends with all the girls but never had a girlfriend. He was the clown of the bunch most defiantly. He had strawberry blonde hair poking out from under a backwards baseball hat and the most beautiful blue eyes I had ever seen. Thanks to Brian's hat, I figured out that they were in a pipe and drum band and probably had just gotten done with a parade somewhere. Before I was even introduced to the third guy, they confirmed my suspicions and told me they just got back from the parade in New York City. I also found out that Brian only lived around the corner from me and we'd probably be walking home together.
The third guy was a dead ringer for Ben Affleck with a few pounds on him. He was adorable. He was kinda quiet compared to the other two, but when he said something, it was good. He had an amazing smile and, well I wouldn't have minded going home with him. His name was Patrick and he was well on his way to quite a hangover in the morning.
The other group of guys left with my friends, so I was left alone with three guys in kilts. Brian, the clown that he was kept showing off by lifting his kilt up to show off his legs. I asked him what he had on under the kilt and if it was true that they didn't wear anything under their kilts. Brian turned around without a word and pulled up the back of his kilt. Low and behold the boy wasn't wearing a stitch of clothing under his kilt. Sean turned around and did the same thing. For a second I thought I went blind from the light of that big pure white ass.
