By EM RUSCIANO
I got tricked into sponsoring an African child. Legit.
Maybe ‘tricked’ isn’t the right word so much as, a hot Irish dude came to my door and caught me in a weakened state. And I was powerless to say no.
You’ve all been there right? Defences are low and impulse purchases are made – I know every under-eye cream I own was acquired under those circumstances. In this instance, I bought a kid.
So to speak.
I’ve recently started back at full-ish time work (Mamamia Today, live on your radio 6pm-7pm week nights on the Southern Cross radio network. Same one as Hamish and Andy, whatever…not a big deal.)
I’d just returned home from work, successfully peeled off my clothing and was in the process of putting on my adult onesie when the doorbell rang…
I assumed it was my husband and children returning home from getting our evening meal, so I approached the door in a cavalier manner. I flung it open expecting to see my family but instead I was greeted by Russell Crow circa Gladiator meets Ryan Gosling circa now. He was all sandy haired, squinty eyed and square jawed. I was momentarily taken back. Who was this person? Why was he at my door? What would he look like with his top off? Wait? What?
And then he spoke…
MOTHER OF PEARL! HE HAD AN IRISH ACCENT!
“Hello thar, moi name es Putrick (of course it was) and I wuz wunderin’ if you cared to help the little uns dying of starvation and puverty in Afreca.”
Okay, I promise to stop typing in an Irish accent, if you promise to put one on in your head every time you read Patrick’s lines, deal? Deal!