"What are you doing here?" I ask handing her a pint of the dark foamy brew.
"Why are you here?" she asks downing a pint in a single gulp then burping in my face.
"Right?" I say taking a sip of my Guinness. "In a million years I never thought I'm come to Ireland but here I am! It was Sarah's idea. You know me I'd much rather head south but it's my wife's birthday and she's always wanted to come."
"I don't care," she snaps taking a drag from a cigarette that magically appears.
After another sip I ask, "I thought you were spending all of your time with Jimmy Cochran."
Rolling her eyes, my Guardian Angel orders a shot of Jammisen and I see she's not as dirty as she usually is, her broken wing if colorfully duct taped in place and she seems to have put on some weight as the blue robe is not sliding down her right shoulder.
"I had to get away from him," she spits. "He spent all of his time chastising me for cussing and drinking, wants me to attend a friggen Baptist Church him and was always preaching at me."
"He tried to reform an Angel?"
"Right?" she says sipping the second pint.
"Can't you report him or something to St. Peter?"
"I did", she sighs, "but he just told me to handle it."
"What are you going to do?"
Leaning forward and poking the cigarette in my face she says, "I thought I'd hang out with you. You're let me be the Angel I need to be to keep your ass straight."
"No, no, no, no," I say holding up my hand. "This is Sarah's birthday trip! You are not going to screw it up!"
"You sound just like Jimmy Cochran," she sighs.
"Tell you what," I say. "Leave Sarah and I alone until next week when we're home and you and I'll have cocktails on the Beloved Back Deck and you can tell me all about it."
"I suppose," she sighs.
"Good," I say slapping my hands together. "Now get the Hell out of here! Sarah's waiting on me so we can hear the band."
My Guardian Angel's lip quivers.
"No, no, no, no," I say holding up my hand again. "You're not going to cry!"
A lone tear rolls down her dirty face.
"Oh fine," I say, "Come on and join us but I'm not telling Sarah. You have to tell her."
She smiles. "Sarah's a saint. She won't care."
"Fine. Let's roll!"
"Let's go to O'Conners," she says. "It's a better Pub."
"How would you know?" I ask.
"We have quarterly meetings there."
"Great," I sigh looking for Sarah in the crowd.
