Mom & sister discover leprechaun isn’t that small

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Mom & sister discover leprechaun isn’t that small, Everyone knows that we Irish are God’s chosen. Good looking, articulate, friendly, sexy, intelligent, poets, writers, athletes, dancers…oh I could go on for ever. C’mon, don’t get excited, its St. Paddy’s day, and this tale tells the story of one Jimmy O’Scoury and his Irish-American family. This story is just the first to detail the sexual adventures of this little leprechaun and may be followed by others if it meets your reading pleasure. So let me know what you think!

But of course you’ll never find your own pot of gold if you don’t vote. Enjoy!

Leprechaun (noun) a mischievous Irish elf

In Irish folklore, a small (but well hung) man with magical powers, often dressed in green

LEPRECHAUN TALES

JUNE 25th 2004 – MIAMI, FLORIDA

‘Oh God, not another bloody Doctor,’ I thought to myself despairingly when I heard Mom say she had found a new expert for my condition. But even as I cringed inwardly I also felt that jolt of hope that invariably surged through me whenever the possibility of cure or improvement was mentioned.

“Mom!” howled Patty in anger before I could respond. “I thought we’d all agreed that Jimmy doesn’t need any more of these quacks hurting him.”

“This one is different,” Mom asserted boldly, not cowed one bit by her daughter’s ferocity.

“There’s nothing wrong with Jimmy, Mom, he’s perfect just as he is,” Pattie wailed back.

“This Doctor told me today he thought he could help us, help Jimmy,” Mom insisted defiantly.

As they argued back and forth, I watched the two of them, the only two people in the world I loved, and the only two people in the world who loved me.

My mom, Bridget O’Scoury, nee Olaffson, a tall blond of Icelandic extraction, she was thirty-six that spring, a vibrant beautiful mother who was indefatigable in her desire to make my sister Patty’s and my life better.

Her daughter, my only sibling Patricia, Patty, was simply perfect. No really – no shit, this girl is perfect. She’s eighteen years old, just a year older than her younger brother – that’s me – but she had already been High School President, Valedictorian, and Volleyball Star and had been accepted into Duke Medical School starting in September. Plus she’s 5′ 10″ tall, a slim but full breasted beauty whose magnificent cascading red hair and freckles are the only things she had inherited from our Irish born, and long gone father.

And then there’s me, the last of our family trio, the one the two females were now arguing about. I could tell you I’m handsome and blond and blue eyed and intelligent and funny – all true by the way – but the only thing that counts is that I’m small, really small, and that’s the whole effing problem. I just turned seventeen and stand 47 inches tall and weigh 83 pounds. Impossible you say – not if you’re a dwarf my friends.

Oh, Mom and Patty always referred to me as their Irish Leprechaun; an impish character that brought great fortune to the O’Scoury clan of Miami, Florida but the fact of the matter is I was a midget and everyone hates midgets.

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