Ireland is a wee but proud nation rich with history and lore, known for its rolling hills, Irish springs, and beautiful women. None was more beautiful than Aisling Murphy. She was a prize Celtic cheerleader, pretty as a rainbow, tastier than a thousand jugs of whiskey.

Irish lads would call on her at her parents pub to pitch woo her. One by one, she dismissed them all with a wave of her hand and a fist from her Pa. Handsome suitors brought her emeralds, powerful men offered her prestige, but she spurned them all. Funny courters wrote her limericks, but she did not laugh. Rich gentlemen brought her emeralds, but still she could not find her one true love.

Until one day, in walked Luke O’Shea, a man well known for bathing in the local Irish springs, the man who would win Aisling’s heart. He was three feet tall if he were an inch, He stood in the doorway, soaked from Irish rain.

Immediately Aisling sat up and proclaimed,“What is that scent, that intoxicating, invigorating aroma? Who could possess such a fragrance? Come to me, sweet smelling stranger, for you shall have my hand.”

The man smiled but said nothing, approaching the siren.
With each step he took, her nostrils fluttered like a
thousand butterflies. It was as if their souls were embracing right then and there, Aisling offering her eternal self through her beautiful button nose. Her reaction was unexplainable, but there was no denying that this little man’s fragrance fulfilled fair Aisling’s heart.

There was just an Air of Luck about him…