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IDENTITY CRISIS

A most unusual phenomenon occurred this morning on my walk around the neighborhood. My imagination has been working a little overtime lately, and I was hoping a little fresh air might help me to see things as they really are. On top of that, my time-management skills are almost non-existent. I think, truth be told, I am going through a mid-life crisis. You can imagine my surprise when I saw a leprechaun along the path. He was dressed all in green, with pointy-toed shoes. He tipped his top-hat and said, “Top O’ the morning to you. Allow me to introduce myself, I am Paddy O’Furniture.”

I replied, “What a coincidence! My name is Patty O’Grill.” Meanwhile, I was thinking to myself, “Is he real? Or, is it just my imagination? Will I be seeing Pixies next?”

Paddy asked me in his fine Irish brogue, with just a hint of Sean Connery, “And where would you be living, my fair colleen?” I answered, “Apparently, at the edge of reality. Where do you live—at the end of the rainbow?”

My question put him all in a dither. He started running around in circles as if uncertain if he should stay or leave. In fact, he seemed to be fading in and out of my sight. I was so surprised I did a double take. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “I was hoping we could be friends.”

He reappeared and answered, “Oh! Faith and Begorrah! One can never have too many friends. I was afraid you were going to try to catch me and try to get my pot of gold.”

I reassured him that was the farthest thing from my mind. As a matter of fact, I found myself saying, “Kiss me, I’m Irish!!” Paddy answered, “I don’t need to be hit over the head with a shillelagh to know when I’m in love.”

“Get a grip!” I told myself. “Leprechauns aren’t real, and you aren’t an Irish colleen. You must be having an identity crisis, among other things.” Nevertheless, when he told me he was Lord of the Dance, and offered to teach me an Irish Jig, I melted in his arms. Now, on any given day, you can find Paddy and me drinking Irish whiskey, and Riverdancing down the path on our morning walks.

It's not UNUSUAL for me to be in the NEIGHBORHOOD. My MANAGEMENT of the LEPRECHAUN shelter brings me into the area at this time of year to ensure the heat is working well.

I am IN A DITHER at the moment because just as I was about to CATCH my ride back home, I saw several of the leprechauns coming out of the shelter. I did a DOUBLE TAKE because of the way they were dressed. It must be the season or they are having an IDENTITY CRISIS because instead of their normal leprechaun garb, they were all dressed as Santa's elves except that they still had those silly green hats on. I must say they look rather silly, but who am I to criticize. After all, I'm the one wearing a red coat and hat, AND sporting a fake beard.

I drove into an unusual neighborhood yesterday. I came upon a waste management truck picking up trash. The driver looked much like a leprechaun with his green uniform. I was in a dither as he almost struck my car riding past very fast. I had to catch my breath for a second. He took a double take at me as if I had tried to get in his way. I didn't need any more aggravation after going through an identity crisis this week.

It was unusual to see Mrs. Bowen's neighborhood cat walking on her lawn at night. Mrs. Bowen, a woman who prided herself on her flawless management style, had often commented to her neighbors that the leprechaun statue on her front lawn was meant to put the neighborhood strays, "in a dither." So now, seeing Fluffy out at night for the first time seemed awfully strange. There had, of course, to be a catch. Upon passing by the leprechaun, Fluffy did a double-take and attacked the statue swiftly with its fist. Never before had Fluffy expressed any sort of violent behavior. It was an identity crisis in the making.

last night was quite the unusual one. i was walking through the neighborhood park looking for the management station because i had seen that their beautiful leprechaun statue was broken in half!! well when i got there the management only replied, "well arent we in a dither?" so was like, what the heck dows that mean? and the man standing there said, " im a real catch, it would be a shame if you let something this good pass you by" well of course i did a double take, wondering why in the world this little man would say that, so i ran away. i was stopped by a homeless man telling me to take him back to my house beause he was having an identity crisis and thought he was a lost puppy in argentina.

I live in an unusual neighbourhood. One of the Management (the super) in my apartment building, looks like a Leprechaun, in a dither! I catch him everyday,and every so often, he is doing a double take, with stilts! I believe he has an identity crisis! Should I get him a MICKEY or 40 pounder for Christmas?

It was an unusual day in my neighborhood. I was on my way to work, TP Management, when allofasudden, I heard a high-pitched voice coming from the back of my car. I looked at the rear view mirror, and to my surprises, was a leprechaun, just sitting their casually. When I asked him what he was doing there, he kept responding something, which kind of sounded like "in a dither". That's all he said, over and over again, like a chant. I heard a loud honk beside me, which made me realize I had to pay attention to where I was driving. I looked back at the rear view mirror, hoping to see the little creature again. But he was gone. However, I did see something in the mirror that made me do a double take. My face....my face wasn't my face anymore. I had turned into a man, with a big hairy beard, kind of like the little creature. I then realized that the problem wasn't seeing things in my head. I was having an identity crisis.

“It’s not unusual to be loved by anyone…..” A Sixties medley of music was blaring from the top floor of the red bricked home. From my position in the garden across the road I could just make out a person dressed in a Maid uniform, holding a vacuum cleaner hose with the curtain attachment near her mouth, swaying back and forth in time to the music.

I thought to myself ”The Neighbourhood is going downhill since the Webb family moved in across the road. I mean it was only a rented place, but they have a Maid, for goodness sake”.

Lionel Webb is apparently in Funds Management but his ditsy wife Cheryl is into Leprechaun and Gnome Collecting. She gets in a dither if her precious collection, in her overgrown patch she calls a garden, gets wet.

Cheryl is constantly peeking out from behind the lounge room curtains to see if she can catch whoever is it randomly moving her 2foot high 1968 Cliff Richard Special Edition gnome. One time it was on her doorstep, the next it is near the letterbox. I have some idea who the culprit might be but I am keeping Mum about it for now.

Hmm what’s up now? Cheryl’s comings over I think. And she is dressed just like the Cliff Richard gnome. What? I would do a double take but it doesn't entirely surprise me. I KNOW for certain it won’t change what she looks like. To my way of thinking she has a serious identity crisis.

“Jelly, Jelly Rowlings, it’s YOU isn’t it? You know who keeps moving my beloved gnomes…..I’ll have you up at the Police if I ever catch you crossing my driveway again….mark my words.” She meant business. As I watched her go through her front door I quickly gave a slight tug on the fishing wire leading across the road and a small figure turned slightly as if to smile at me…..”ooh Cliffy you ARE a Living Doll” I laughed to myself.

It was rumored that a suspicious looking dog with an unusual accent was roaming the neighborhood talking to himself about dead cats. I was curious and as the head of neighborhood watch, I felt it my duty to get to the bottom of this. So I called management to say I wouldn't be in for the day...I had a mystery to solve. As I rounded the corner of Elm St. a Leprechaun was rummaging through the neighbor's trash. He pulled out a dead, stiff cat. Come to find out, the neighbors had planned on using the cat in an ancient Chinese recipe, but their daughter couldn't stomach having cat again this Thanksgiving--so she threw him in the garbage can and pushed him to the curb. When I saw the little green man rummaging through the dank garbage with a rotting animal in his cluthces, I did a double take at this strange sight I asked the leprechaun just what his intentions were. He kindly took the time to explain to me that this was not just any cat. This cat was a mythical bipolar cat with an identity crisis. He had desired that after he had lost his ninth life he would be cremated and his ashes scattered over the ancient pyramids of Egypt. The leprechaun was assigned by the cat gods to carry out the last wishes of the sad, rotting corpse of the cat. He was not meant to end up in chinese food nor was he meant to be left to rot in the county dump. He was meant to return to his original owner. For this was no ordinary cat. This was the reincarnated cat of King Tut. He simply wanted to go home. The moral of this story is that we should all pray to leprechauns because they are real.