“Don’t go up there! They’ll try to kill you!” the man warned as he fled.
George was right behind him, though George hoped he’d gotten his money’s worth. Surely this was just some silly old legend, and kissing the Blarney Stone couldn’t possibly bless you with the Gift of Gab. Nevertheless, everyone swore by the legend, so he held on to the glimmer of hope.
On his first night back home, he tested his newfound ability. He’d never been good with words, and he was ready to romance Rose as he’d never been able to do.
He smiled, and caressed her face, building up the words to tell her how beautiful she was, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of her nose. That mole on the end of her nose, it was the only blemish on an otherwise perfect face. She should have it removed. It was simple, in-and-out surgery. Snip, snip, and the mole would be gone. Ah well, back to the business at hand, romancing his darling Rose. He was about to utter words of beauty, poetic all, but the color had drained from her face.
“Plastic surgery?” she spat. “You think I should have plastic surgery? Snip snip?”
“But… but… I was going to tell you how beautiful you are!”
“That’s how you call someone beautiful? You son of a bitch!” She slapped his face and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
He hadn’t realized that he’d said the words out loud, those ugly words about the mole on her nose. He’d only been thinking it, but somehow it just popped out. That hadn’t gone at all as planned. Instead of setting the stage for a marriage proposal, he’d just insulted the woman of his dreams. He’d gotten so excited, that his thoughts just slipped out.
The next day was the opening at an art gallery for Bertie Butte, an artist from Grimsby that his company was trying to land as a client. Her paintings sold for thousands of dollars each, and signing her would be quite a coupe. The only reason that George had even been allowed to pursue her, was because the top salesman was out of town on holiday, and George was all they had. Against their better judgement, they’d sent him to the gala.
He hung back watching Bertie, gauging his approach, and saw that she was drinking some sort of fruity tropical drink, so he went to the bar.
“Excuse me, do you know what Ms. Butte is drinking?”
“Why yes, she’s drinking Mai Tai’s this evening. What a sweetheart she is, too! She gave me a $50 tip and told me to treat my wife to dinner. A rare bird, to be so nice!”
“Could you mix up another one for her? I can’t tip you $50, but how about a fiver?”
“Sure thing, boss! Thanks!” The bartender handed George the Mai Tai with an Irish green umbrella stuck through a pineapple and cherry. George was relieved to hear that Bertie was nice. This would be easier than he expected.
He handed Bertie Butte the drink with a gentlemanly bow, and she smiled. This was the moment he’d been waiting for. He’d rehearsed what to say, but first, he had to make small talk and crack the door a little.
“Your falcon painting is stunning! I could almost hear its talons ripping into the fox.”
Bertie laughed. “Yes, hunters love the falcon series. It’s the most popular. They’ll all be sold before the night is over.” She spoke with pride for creating something that others loved. You could tell that it wasn’t about the money for her. As they chatted, his mind drifted.
She was a big woman, with rolls of fat bulging over the neckline of that hideous red dress. Gaudy, and cheap looking. You’d never have taken her for an artist whose paintings commanded thousands of dollars each.
Rumor had it that Bertie liked to play blackjack, and he had no doubt that the casino staff joked about “the whale” in red. She was the meat that stuffed sausage jokes were made of. His mind had drifted, and he needed to steer the conversation to the business at hand.
“Well I never!” She looked horrified. Never what, he wondered? What had they been talking about?
Sticky red liquid hit him in the face, and dripped down his white shirt inside the suit jacket. He’d done it again! He’d uttered his ugly thoughts out loud! He’d just called Bertie Butte a big, fat whale to her face! He could kiss his job goodbye, just as he’d kissed Rose goodbye the night before.
He’d never been good with words, but he’d never said such ugly things out loud before, not until he’d kissed the Blarney Stone. Something had gone wrong, terribly, awfully wrong, and he had to go back and fix it. So George drove 531 miles back to Blarney Castle.
“You’ve got to remove the spell! It’s horrible! You wouldn’t believe the awful things I’ve said to people. I lost my girlfriend. I lost my job. I’ll lose my sanity if you don’t get this blasted curse off of me!”
“But didn’t they tell you, laddie? Didn’t they explain it to you? If you kiss the Blarney Stone upside down, the effect is reversed. You aren’t blessed with the Gift of Gab, you’re cursed with the Gift of Blab!”
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Sharon Delarose is the author of several books including two non-fiction alien books: Alien Nightmares, and Ancient Aliens and the Lost Islands. Sharon has also written a nature series called An Acre of America Backyard Nature Series with full color photos, each with a story or legend, shows you the really cool entities that might live in your own back yard. Look for The Wizard of Awe, Over the Hummingbird’s Rainbow, and King of the Forest. Also available are dog books, humor, and how-to’s such as Wedding Anniversary Gifts for Coin Collectors.
You can find Sharon’s books at http://books.gityasome.com. Or check out the blog, under her narrator name of Allie Mars at http://www.alliemars.com. Thanks!
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The Graveyard Kiss
Meghan Ciana Doidge