One of our regular customers here at the King’s Arse is Angus McMahon, a fellow of Scottish descent, as you can tell by the name. He’s never been across the pond but he likes to play up the whole Scots image by affecting the accent and frequently wearing a kilt. Even though the kilt gets him a lot of strange looks and comments I don’t mind him wearing it here because it adds to the ambience. I draw the line at bag pipes, though. No wind in the King’s Arse.
Angus usually comes in on Saturday nights while his wife is at the Bingo games. That gives him the chance to talk to some of the ladies without the scornful eye of his missus holding him back.
His wife, Betty McMahon, is a small, attractive red head who can display a fiery temper now and then, but she’s used to Angus’ flirting ways and mostly puts up with them. She seemed to be a little steamed when she came in this afternoon and asked me what kind of contests we had been running here in the evenings.
I told her there wasn’t any contests here that I knew of except maybe for Pete and Harold trying to see who could sing the worst.
She demanded to know what happened to her husband Angus here last night and then I knew what she was talking about. There had been some young lady tourists in and Angus, as usual, was having fun talking with them. Nothing serious, just a little innocent flirting like all the fellows do when they’ve had a few pints and there’s a lass about. The ladies seemed to be having a good time and even bought him a pint or two.
I could see that they seemed to be interested in Angus’ kilt, as people often are. Later in the evening I happened to look over and saw that Angus was getting a little drunker than he normally does. Finally he laid his head down on the bar and took a wee nap.
The ladies were giggling and whispering to each other and I saw one of them lift his kilt and take a peek. They laughed some more and one of them pulled a blue hair ribbon from her hair and reached up under his kilt with it. I probably should have said something but I figured it served him right for passing out like that.
“So that’s what it was about,” said Betty. “Angus staggered home and when he got undressed there was a blue ribbon tied around his “caber“, as he calls it. I told him he better have a darn good excuse for that. He scratched his head and he said he didn’t remember what sort of contest he entered but it looked like he won first prize.”