F3 Irish Heritage

     "I thought that you had agreed to leave me alone." I closed the door to my office, and scowled at the little man sitting in front of my desk. His legs dangled far from the floor, and he had pulled the coffee table from in front of the couch and spread various tools and implements on it. He hammered away at a shoe.
     "Don't be like that, Matt'ew. An' I never agreed to an'thing like that."

     "Michaleen--"
     "Not me name."
     "Until you give me some name to call you by, real or not, you're Michaleen. Maybe even after you tell me a name. Now, what will it take to get rid of you?"
     "Is that any way to be greetin' a friend?"
     "You know," I faced away from him, removing my jacket and hat, "according to legend, if I take my eyes off you, you disappear. So, go on, get out."
     "That only works for those after Faerie riches, an' you proved yer not."
     "Fine, I take it back. Give me your pot of gold." I turned back around, and he still sat there, smiling.
     I flounced in my desk chair, and scowled at the little man. "Why are you here?"
     "Why, t'is St. Patty's Day!"
     I waited.
     "Ye need to be celebratin' yer Irish heritage, lad."
     "Have you noticed your accent fades in and out?"
     "I brought you something."
     "No thanks."
     "If'n you don't accept the gift, I'll be sticking around."
     My scowl became a definite glower. "Fine."
     The leprechaun dismounted from the chair, and trundled his way over with something cupped in his hand. He wasn't diminutive, just short about the height of a ten-year old, but his features were that of a much older man.
     He tossed the prize onto the desk, a green four leaf clover made of what looked like shoe leather.
     "Thanks."
     "Wear it today, and have a Guinness."
     I stared him down. "Fine." I blinked. "You're still here."
     He grinned.
     "Michaleen," I stared at the ceiling, pleading for some kind of divine sign, "what else do you . . . . I really hate you." He had disappeared, taking all of his shoemaking with him.
     "Jen!" I called into the other office, "Let's go have a beer. And we're going to make a new policy about letting short men into my office."