An Irish Fantasy
 by Heather Poinsett 

   St. Patrick's day has always been a much celebrated event for you and your loved ones.  This particular year you find yourself at the St. Patrick's festival with your boyfriend, enjoying the festivities.  For the last year you and he have gotten into the spirit of things.  Every medieval festival, Celtic celebration, highland games and Ceilidh you and he have dressed to the nines.  

   You go in the medieval garb you've spent the last few years collecting along with the St. Patrick's tartan sash (there's a little bit of Scot in a great many Irish and vice versa).  Your boyfriend is in his
breckenfield kilt and you both carry the beautiful walking sticks he has
been working on for the last few months.  You both immediately spot
clansmen and old friends at the festival.  The day runs away from you as
you eat, drink, look at all the stuff you'd like to buy, take pictures,
pose for a newspaper publicity shot, and listen to the music of the old
country.

   The nights' festivities begin getting louder and raunchier.  "Oh no, not
again," you think to yourself as you watch as your boyfriend leaves to talk
to a fellow bodhran player.  Your own friends have left for the evening and
now you're stuck.  You've spent the whole day with a rather rustic group of
people, the type who belch for money and to be heard. Despite the fact that
you've enjoyed their company, you find yourself wanting to be with someone
a bit more civilized.  Someone who might prefer wine to Guinness and Harp
once in a while.  

   You can't decide if you should sit and wait for your man or walk back to
the booth with the CD's.  You begin shivering and you are genuinely
suprised when someone drapes a black cloak over your shoulders.

   You think for a minute that your boyfriend has returned and bought you that cloak you've been admiring most of the day.  You begin to turn around with a big grin to ask, "Hon, are you sure you can afford this?", when you see your boyfriend in the corner of your eye, still chattin' with the same
bodhran player about 30 yards away from where you're standing.  

   You turn around to face the stranger, who has wrapped you in that beautiful cloak, with a wildly beating heart.  Now who could it be? <wg>

   To your delight, you find yourself smiling at Nunkies.

   "Thank you," is all you can think to say.

   "Are you warming up now?" he asks and offers you his arm.

   You can't help giggling as you wrap your arm around his.  "I'm fine now
that you're here.  How did you know I was here?"

   Nunkies holds up a newspaper that has a picture of you and your boyfriend
in it.

   "You looked rather fetching," he states, wrapping a strong arm around your waist.  You blush to your toes as you feel him pull you closer.  You can't help feeling a bit breathless in his embrace and you wonder if it's the bodice that your wearing or merely his powerful presence.  Your skin
prickles pleasantly as he wraps his other arm around you.

  You sigh contentedly and then you notice you're not on solid ground
anymore.

   Nunkies takes you back to his hotel and you spend the next several hours
with him.  You bask in the glow of a warming fire as you recline in
Nunkies' arms.  You start feeling a tinsy bit guilty for leaving your
boyfriend behind, but he's an understanding lad.

   (I'd go further into the fantasy at this point..but hey this is a PG-13
loop so I'll just skip it.) <wg>  
 
   Around midnight Nunkies takes you back to the festival and just as your
boyfriend gets back from discussing the intricacies surrounding the playing
of the bodhran.  

   "Sorry I was gone so long," he says.  "Randy and I just got to talking.  I see you've finally decided to get yourself that cloak you've been looking
at all day."

   "It's ok," you say with a grin.  "An old friend stopped by to say hello. 
We picked up the cloak."

   As you walk back to the car next to your man you remember Nunkies' parting words after the sweet kiss you shared.  

   "Same time, next year."

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End