Honea Express

He was dressed all in green, cute and quite tiny. But he’s six, they do that. The agenda of the day was on repeat and by the third time through, between bites of oatmeal and large gulps of orange juice, I believe I had the gist of what he was saying. First, they were doing a flash mob on the school playground, and then they were walking to the park for a leprechaun hunt.

“You’re hunting leprechauns?” I asked.

“Mr. Magic Leprechaun lives in the park,” he said. “My teacher saw him.”

“Is this a catch and release thing or do you plan to eat him?”

“We’re not going to eat a leprechaun!” he said. He seemed insulted.

“Then what are you going to do? Make a rug?”

“A what? They don’t make leprechaun rugs!”

“They should,” I told him. “Although I’m not sure how big of a rug you can get from a leprechaun hide. Maybe we can make a doormat.”

“Daddy! We’re not making a leprechaun doormat!”

“That’s a good idea. If a rainbow ended on our porch we’d get all kinds of crazies. Maybe we could have him mounted, like a trophy. We could hang lucky charms from his antlers.”

“Leprechauns don’t have antlers.”

“Are you sure about that one?” I asked. “I’m pretty sure they have antlers.”

“Leprechauns aren’t animals.”

“Then why are you hunting them?”

“We’re LOOKING for Mr. Magic Leprechaun,” he said. “We just want to say hello.”

“Oh,” I said. “So tell me about the flash mob. Do you need to borrow a trench coat?”

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