You approached me and my two friends, one with perfect hair and the other with a denim blazer, outside of Old Town Social on Friday night and started a conversation. When we told you our destination of Big City Tap, immediately you insisted we head to Butch McGuire's instead. You told us not to be scared, you are, after all, Irish. It then became apparent the only way to choose a late-night bar was a dance off, Berlin style. You got nervous due to your 2-Irish left feet at which point I told you my name (Margaret Sweeney), age (36), ethnicity (Irish) and other important facts about my upbringing on the South side of Chicago. It is at this time I should point out that none of that information was true.
In the end, your swift moves won out over mine and the four of us got into a cab and went to Butch's. It was during that 10 minute trip heading south we witnessed you do the most incredible Hall and Oates' Rich Girl I am certain anyone has ever seen. It is clear that before you were even born, that song was meant for you. The way you drummed on the dash and pointed to the back seat with every nuance of the song was incredible.
We arrived at Butch’s and you took our drink order, 2 beers and 2 Jamesons, then led us to the back of the bar where your friends were. 3 boys who all seemed to have an affinity for plaid, two of which wore glasses and one with some sort of winking disorder. At the end of the night we all separated. I found a few Russians on tour with Bono while you and my friend shared a cab together. You tried to give her your number, but it all ended terribly when she didn’t hit save.
We would like to hangout again, Irish. If we do, we promise to never go to Big City Tap ever again.
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