‘When I see a beautiful woman, I have to try to talk her into bed’
CHRISTIAN ASKS IF there’s any chance of me and Sorcha getting back together again now that we’re back living under the same roof. I tell him there’s not a hope. “Don’t get me wrong,” I go, “if I thought there was a chance of getting in there, it’d be on like Donkey Kong. But yeah, no, Sorcha’s just agreed to put me up for a few weeks until I find somewhere else to live.”
My aportment building in Ticknock was knocked down last week after the foundations were found to be unsafe. I’m still waiting to find out what kind of moo I’m getting from the insurance.
Christian goes, “You two belong together, Ross. I’m mean, Sorcha’s an amazing person.”
“You won’t get any orguments from me on that score.”
“She’s smart. She’s caring. She’s still very beautiful.”
“Oh, big time. Especially when she’s had her roots done and she’s got a bit of colour in her face. Like I said, I’d be in there like swimwear. The problem is . . .”
“What?” he goes, at the same time ordering two more pints of the golden wonder. This is us in Kielys, by the way. A Saturday afternoon.
I’m there, “I’m not sure I even believe in monogamy. When I see a beautiful woman, I have to at least try to talk her into bed. I’m not sure if it’s a gift from God or kind of mental illness. Either way, I’m stuck with it. And wives, unfortunately, don’t love it.”
He’s, like, quiet for a bit then. It’s good to spend QT with my best friend. I was just saying recently, I must make more of an effort to see him. “I’m sorry about last week,” he goes.
He had a bit of a meltdown and told me that him and Lauren’s marriage was in trouble. She wants another saucepan, except he doesn’t see how they can support one, what with him having no job. She thinks he has, like, self-esteem issues relating to being made redundant and she wants him to go to see someone. It’s grown-up stuff. That’s possibly why we’re drinking at about twice the usual pace.
I’m there, “Dude, you don’t have to apologise to me. We’ve been friends how long?”
“Twenty years,” he goes.
I’m there, “Twenty years. Which includes playing rugby together.” When two men play out-half and inside-centre to each other, they form a bond that can never be broken. I truly believe that.
His phone suddenly beeps. He got, like, a text message. It ends up being from Lauren. Her and Sorcha hit Dundrum this afternoon with the kids. “She’s on her way.”
I’m like, “What do you mean, on her way?”
“She’s coming to pick me up.” It’s only, like, five o’clock. I thought we were out for the night. I thought we were going to get monged and hit Krystle. No wonder his marriage is in trouble, I think, if that’s her attitude to him going out.
Fifteen minutes later, she arrives. I’ve always been a huge fan of Lauren’s, even though she thinks I’m a total waste of space. For some reason, I always end up saying the wrong thing around her – probably out of nerves.
We do the whole air kissing thing and I go, “I hear you’re not letting this dude come out with me tonight. I won’t let him get off with anyone – that’s a promise I’m making to you.” See what I mean? She just, like, glowers at me.
All of a sudden, I look down and there he is. My godson. Ross Junior! He’s a great little kid, it has to be said, even though I haven’t see him in nearly a year. What must he be now? Three? Four?
“Hi, Uncle Roth,” he goes. He’s got, like, a lisp like the kid out of Jerry Maguire – and you’d certainly put him up there with him in terms of cuteness. I pat him on the head and I’m like, “How the hell are you? Did you get the Transformers I sent you for your birthday?”
Lauren smiles – that’s all I’m getting out of her. “He did,” she goes, “and thank you, Ross. Although he’s more interested in dolls than he is boys’ toys.” She says this with a little chuckle to herself.
It’s only then that I notice – I’m not inventing this – the kid has an actual Borbie doll in his hand. I try not to react, even it’s hord not to say something.
Lauren goes, “I think we’re actually raising a girl! He even picks out what shoes I should wear – and he’s nearly always right!” Again, there’s that chuckle.
The kid goes, “Uncle Roth, my mawmy ith wearing ballet flath.” I’m thinking, am I the only one who thinks this is a bit odd? Lauren – again – glowers at me. She goes, “Ross, my son is talking to you.” I’m there, “I know.”
“Well, why are you ignoring him.” I hate parents who think you should acknowledge with a focking round of applause every word that comes out of their children’s mouths. Most stuff that kids say before the age of five is just bullshit, you might as well try and have a conversation with a drunk on the Luas red line. And I’m saying that as a father.
“My mawmy ith wearing ballet flath, Uncle Roth.”
I pat him on the head and I’m like, “Fair enough.”
“My mawmy ith wearing ballet flath.” Of course I end up having to open my big mouth. “Is that not a bit odd?” I go.
Lauren’s there, “What?” like she knows she’s about to be offended in some way.
“I don’t know, the focking Borbie doll there and the whole being into fashion thing – a lot of people would find that a bit of a weird way for a four-year-old boy to roll.”
Lauren literally explodes. “How dare you make a comment like that about our son. At least he’s pleasant. At least he has manners. I’ve just been shopping with Sorcha. The way that daughter of yours speaks to her!”
“You can’t blame me for that. A lot of that is down to stuff they pick up from TV and the internet.”
She turns to Christian then. “She had a screaming fit because Sorcha wouldn’t let her have a new dress. She said, ‘Hashtag – are you, like, depressed or something?’ To her own mother!”
I’m there, “The kid’s an asshole, Lauren, I’m not going to defend her.”
Lauren goes, “Well, maybe it’s up to you as her father to teach her about discipline – preferably before you start questioning other people’s parenting abilities?” Then she turns around to Christian and goes, “Come on, let’s go.” And without even saying goodbye to me, he follows her out onto the Donnybrook Road.