I went to Dublin Zoo last week and sure we had a great old day. Once I got over the guilt of paying over €3 each for boxes of popcorn for my children while I spied proper mothers with beautifully prepared picnics.
As I walked through the African Plains it was Giraffe feeding eating time. We had a great view but I couldn’t help but be distracted by a different breed. And one which seems to be in no fear of extinction. Irish men, Irish! With trendy shorts, perfect tans, mirrored aviator shades, beefy biceps and beautifully quaffed sandy hair. In theory, a sighting of beauty but I became more unsettled about these regular passing herds then the wasp who kept hoovering over my can of coke.
I love Irish men. But I want the farmers tan, the daddy belly. Those 10-year-old shorts from Dunnes that get an airing now and again. I want a man who going to convince me to ask for extra bacon on my cheese burger not just ask for bacon because of his high protein diet. I mean could any of these TOWIE extras withstand a night of Guinness farts without beginning to lose serious muscle mass?
If I’m being honest my real worry is for Irish women. Where will this leave us if this Essexisation becomes an epidemic? Will we cease to utter stable phrases like ‘I’m not putting tan on my legs I’m wearing jeans tonight’ or ‘Sure, Penny €10’. I want to continue to have the craic, not bantz.
Maybe I should just embrace it. Call myself Georgina or something and start talking about being ‘mugged off’ at least 8 times every 2 minute as if I’m wired up to explosives that will detonate if I don’t keep to this mind- numbing repetition. As a woman who has what is medically referred to as ‘A big Irish head on me’ I’m at a loss as to what to do. What ya think…mate?!