shame and shamrocks

The Guinness looks the same. Other Irish beers look familiar but have funny names. Are they real? I'm too embarrassed to ask the barman who has had his face painted green. His huge weird hat looks authentic, as if he has come straight from the parade on O'Connell Street, Dublin. But he speaks Finnish and Swedish and some English, and his name is Jarkko. Welcome to St. Patrick's Day! We are in a medium-sized city in Finland.

I don't like beer anyway. I guess I could and would start liking it if I really wanted to, and sometimes I'm tempted to try. But beer is not good for the figure. Neither is cider, or wine, or vodka with a mixer... I give up and order a reassuringly sweetish Finnish cider.

I'm here with a guy who is clearly interested in me but who is trying to not to be obvious about it since he is a bit too shy to tell me so. Why are these things so complicated? He is sweet and I would love to get to know him better... but I'm still hung up on my ex, whom I saw yesterday and shared a lunch, some secrets and quite a few laughs with. How can I trust my shaky life to a stranger like this one?

There are no Irish people - as far as I can tell - in this Irish bar on St. Patrick's day. The closest you get is a few drunk Swedish football supporters who are having no luck trying to chat up some icy Finnish ladies. A band is playing "Dirty Old Town" but I can hardly hear them. I can hardly hear my date's voice when we try to chat. How embarrassing. What a boring evening. I can't even get drunk on the stupid cider. I hate the stupid ugly shamrock decorations on the wall. I want a real Irish bar in a backstreet in Galway or in a sleepy village in Wicklow. The only speck of light is the doorman who hands me back my coat at the end of the failed evening - I have a secret crush on him. I say a hasty farewell to my date and leave before he can get any ideas about kissing me. I'm not ready for this.

I'm not ready for anything. I want an easy life and no male hormones nearby.