“I love your accent” said Scott as he poured me a mimosa in a pint glass. “Thanks, ” I said wryly “All the gay men do.”
Tom, Mike and I were having a breakfast drink at Annies in Washington DC and I had figured one mimosa couldn’t do any harm. Wrong. Scott added a long dash of Peach Schnapps to the pint glass and set the tall golden drink on the polished wooden bar. “Happy St. Patrick’s Day.” he said.
“You could make a fortune selling phone sex,” said Scott “Say it after me” ‘Mammy will spank your bottom.'”
I couldn’t say it of course. I am much too repressed.
I wonder if Belfast women could get an EU grant to help them develop this marketable skill? If Scott is right, the Ulster economy could be boosted enormously. We are already chatty, and with years of therapy funded from Brussels it might be possible to overcome our inhibitions and learn to talk dirty. Capacity building, that’s what they call it.
I’m not sure it would work though. Callers to Take a Beatin’ or Show Us Your Craic or ‘Bout Ye Big Boy would probably be surprised to have their–eh– flow interrupted by the seductive voice on the end of the line continually asking them to “Houl’ on a wee minute” .
As anyone who has ever conducted a phone conversation with a Belfast woman knows,this phrase will be used several times in the course of an average call.
“Houl’ on a wee minute–I need til get the door”
“Houl’ on a wee minute–the kettle’s just bilin…”
“Houl’ on a wee minute–Corrie’s on the telly”
“Houl’ on a wee minute–I’ve the pan on”
“Houl’ on a wee minute–our Kevin’s just walked in”
There is also a risk that, instead of attending to the matter in hand, the Irish sex worker will go off on a tangent or two:
“Mrs. Birch has gone. Her death was in the paper”
“Have you had your tea?”
and the inevitable:
“My head’s away. Now, what were we talkin’ about?”
Another career door closes. Happy St. Patrick’s Day. Select Danny Boy as your ring tone and don’t forget to call your mother.