Hennessy is grinning like a dog trying to pass a laundry ball through its urinary tract. Yeah, no, for five days now, me and Bernie from Bray of all places have been – in fairness – texting each other, and the dude is reading through the exchanges, some of which are pretty, it might be a word, explicit?
“Have you ever been to watch The Ster at the D4tress?” he goes, ripping the piss out of me. “I can’t believe you’re not a virgin.”
I’m there, “What can I say? Those kind of lines have always worked for me.”
“I would regard Jamie Heaslip as a personal friend,” he goes, “and Johnny Sexton would never pass me on the street without calling me Legend.”
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“Both statements of fact.”
“I can’t believe she’s even replying to you.”
“One word, Dude – and that word is rugby.”
He suddenly storts texting her – on my phone, bear in mind?
I’m like, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, what are you saying? Dude, what are you–?”
He goes, “I’m upping the ante. I’m asking her what she’s wearing.”
“Whoa! Back up the hord drive!”
“Otherwise, she’ll be 80 and you’ll still be trying to talk her into bed.”
“Er, I’m not trying to talk her into bed?”
My phone all of a sudden beeps. He reads the message. He goes, “I’m not wearing anything. What about you?”
I’m like, “Tell her I’m wearing my famous boxers with the elephant ears on the sides.”
Except he doesn’t. He goes, “I’m naked too,” and he actually sends it to her.
I’m there, “Dude, that doesn’t sound like my voice. I was building up to inviting her to a match in the RDS.”
My phone beeps again and he reads the message.
He goes, “She wants to know what’s your wildest fantasy.”
I’m there, “Probably some kind of backroom role within the Leinster set-up.”
Yeah, no, the idea was not to have actual sexual relations with the woman
— Ross
He rolls his eyes, then storts typing again. He’s there, “I’m telling her that you’ve got quite the imagination.”
I’m like, “Just keep in mind, Dude, that Sorcha checks my text messages on a regular basis.”
There’s another beep. He laughs. He goes, “You want to know what she likes? Workmen’s trousers.”
I’m like, “As in–?”
“Those two-tone pants with all the pockets that electricians and plumbers wear. Where are we going to get you a pair of those?”
“Excuse me?”
He goes, “I got a plumber in the kitchen!” and the next thing I know I’m following him down the hallway, going, “Dude, what are you doing? Dude, what the fock?”
“Take your trousers off,” he tells the plumber.
Obviously, the plumber’s like, “Soddy?”
“The trousers,” Hennessy goes. “Here,” and he storts peeling notes off a wad of a fifties that’s as thick as I am stupid.
The dude whips off the trousers, no further questions asked, and Hennessy hands them to me, telling me to put them on.
He goes, “Your father’s playing golf in Doonbeg. While the cat’s away, the mice will fornicate.”
I’m there, “Yeah, no, can I just remind you, the idea was just to get some incriminating text messages out of her to show the old man, not to have actual sexual relations with the woman.”
He goes, “Look, you don’t have to actually go through with it. Anyway, you’ve no choice in the matter. I’ve told her you’re coming around.”
“You did what?”
“And I said you’d be wearing the trousers.”
“Fock.”
“She’s very excited.”
“Is she? What did she say? As in, what were her actual words?”
“She says she’ll be upstairs in bed. She wants you to shout up the stairs that she has a blockage in the cistern – that’s why the toilet won’t flush.”
The plumber dude goes, “If it’s a problem with the flush, the issue is more likely to be a scaled valve seal, or maybe the float is set too high so that you’ve water entering the overflow tube.”
Hennessy’s like, “This is all fabulous detail. Ross, put the trousers on.”
I’m there, “Did you say a scaled seal valve?” trying to buy myself some time here.
“Put the focking trousers on!” Hennessy shouts at me.
So – yeah, no – that’s what I end up doing?
I was reading that everyone will be doing something similar when AI takes away all of our jobs
— Charles
Half an hour later, the two of us are in Hennessy’s cor and we’re crossing the – believe it or not – Dorgle on the way to her gaff.
I’m going, “I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.”
He’s like, “You don’t have to do anything. You can make your excuses and leave at any point. We just need to break this spell that she’s cast on your old man.”
Hennessy pulls up outside a gaff in – yeah, no – Ordmore Pork. I get out of the cor and Hennessy tells me that my orse looks good in the trousers.
I’m like, “Yeah, no, thanks,” because I’m a sucker for a compliment.
I walk up to the front door. It ends up being open. I honestly feel like I’m in a bad porno movie?
I step into the gaff, feeling ridiculous. I stand at the bottom of the stairs and I shout, “You’ve a blockage in your cistern! Either that or a something valve something-something!”
All of a sudden, the old man steps out of the kitchen, going, “Kicker! What the hell are you doing here?”
I end up nearly having a prolapse on the spot.
I’m like, “What the–? I thought you were playing golf in–?”
He goes, “No, that’s next weekend.”
“And where’s–?”
“Bernie? Oh, she’s in Spain with her sister! Why on earth are you dressed as a plumber?”
“Excuse me?”
“The trousers, Kicker!”
I end up having to think fast.
I’m there, “Yeah, no, I, em, did a course.”
No good ever comes from me thinking fast.
He’s like, “You did a course? In plumbing?”
I’m there, “That’s right.”
“Well, I was reading that everyone will be doing something similar when AI takes away all of our jobs. And, what, Bernie told you about the cistern being blocked, did she?”
“She, er, may have mentioned it, yeah.”
“So do you think you’ll be able to fix it.”
“I’ll, em, definitely take a look.”
“It’s the toilet at the top of the stairs, Kicker.”
A minute later, as I’m taking the lid off the cistern, my phone all of a sudden beeps. It’s a message from Bernie. And I don’t even need to look at it to know that it’s a laughing emoji.
