Can you see my bum, Fernando?

(This might seem a little bit out of left-field if you don't know the origins of this blog. See "Steppin' Out (for Sinéad)" on Gerry's Blog for a bit of background...)

Once upon a time, there was a green and cabbagy Irishman called, oh, let's call him Gerry. Gerry was a bit of a cheeky up-start, a wanna-be fella-me-lad, one of those guys who is so aggressively heterosexual and yet so lacking in romantic female companionship that you start to consider that maybe he's playing for the other team. He didn't set your gay-dar pinging, but you wouldn't be surprised either. Gerry went to San Fransisco for the summer after he finished his second year at University. No-one was surprised.

Now at around the same time, there lived a beautiful princess... oh sorry, wrong story. So there was also a greener and cabbagier Irishwoman, who will be known by the pseudonym Pen. She was a fairly gullible character; a bit innocent about the ways of the world - but she's not me. Really.

Pen had just finished her degree and was working in the airport for the summer, when she got a phone call from Gerry. The conversation was short.
G - "Hi, what is everyone doing tonight? I just got back to Dublin."
P - "No plans. Where are you?"
G - "Just coming into Dublin Airport"
P - "No way! I'll meet you in 10 minutes..."

The interesting conversation took place in the arrivals lounge.
P - "Welcome back! Good summer? You look great!"
G - "Great summer. You?" (You'll note that there weren't any compliments to a member of the opposite sex... I'm just saying, it could be evidence!)
P - "Any scandal? Any women on the scene?"
G - (Blushing a little) "That'd be telling..."
P - (Noticing a plain band on the wedding ring finger) "Did you get laid and then tricked into marrying the harlot?"
G - "Weeeelllllll....."

So the yarn that Gerry spun went along the lines of having met this guy Fernando - a hot Latino beastie - in SanFran. Gerry and Fernando eloped to Las Vegas and got married in the Chapel of Love. Gerry now has "Fernando" tattooed on his ass and Fernando has "Gerard" on his. This was a marriage of convenience though, of course, because Gerry wanted a Green Card and for some reason, Fernando wanted to live and work in Ireland. Fernando would be coming (if you'll excuse the expression) to Dublin in about 2 weeks.

So yes, I am getting a little embarrassed on Pen's behalf at her gullibility in swallowing (again, I apologise for the unfortunate turn of phrase) a stinker this big.

Anyway, Pen had to go back to work. Gerry was heading home (to his parents, not to the house that he shared in town with Pen and a bunch of other friends). Pen got back to her office and phoned everyone that they lived with in turn, and told them the story. She had been convinced and was therefore quite convincing herself.

That night Pen met up with three of the others and over any number of pints, retold (and only embellished a little bit) Gerry's tale of the love that had unfortunately dared to speak its name. There was little else to talk about all night, really. They got a taxi home and were still talking about it. The taxi-driver was drawn into the conversation despite himself. He wasn't sure what to believe. Could it be true? It couldn't be! But what if it was? He had to know.

As Pen and her posse climbed drunkenly out of the cab and paid up, the taxi-driver scribbled his mobile phone number on a card and passed it to one of the gang. "Lemme know how all dis works ou', yeah bud?". They promised they would.

Three days later, Gerry came (fnarr fnarr, I'm sorry, I can't help myself) back up to town and was practically attacked at the front door. He was still wearing the plain band on his wedding finger. So, the guys pinned him down while the girls ripped off his trousers to check for the tattoo on his ass. I was there for that bit. I wish I wasn't. It was horrible. The hairiest arse I have ever seen.

There was no tattoo!
There was no wedding!
There was no Chapel of Love!
There was no Fernando!

There was Las Vegas, but Gerry had only lost $300 there, not his ass-cherry!

Poor Pen was mortified at her naivete. And to make matters worse, the others all voted that seeing as how it was her fault, she'd have to be the one to ring the taxi-driver and tell him that it was all a hoax. She was so green that she did.