This is the story the Pixies brought me this year. I knew it would be in the humor category because they were all giggling before they put it in my mind. It is a letter to Prudence, a sex advice columnist. After I wrote it out, I asked the Pixies if it were real and in that annoying unison they use when actually speaking out loud they answered, "As real as we are." Then they mentally assured me that they had cast a spell on the story so people would not recognize Leprechaun and his wife even if they fit his descriptions exactly.
As with most of my Celtic stories, this is partly from Celtic Myth, partly from various histories, and partly from my warped and fertile imagination.
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WARNING! This warning is possibly not needed for this particular story, but I am including it because it is needed for most of my stories.
If you decide to read other of my stories make sure that you read the disclosures and warnings at the beginning of each story.
All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.
All characters involved in sexual activity in this story are over the age of 18. If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.
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Dear Prudence,
I don't usually write to advice columnists-- actually I don't even usually read your column-- but I don't know where else to turn. And it's not just because the problem is sexual... well, it's not really sexual... but it's partly sexual. I guess you could call it sexual, but it's mostly weird. I am writing to you for advice because I have a very weird sexual problem... but not in the kinky sex weird sort of way that people usually write to you about. This is Halloween weird.
My wife would have a hissy-fit if she saw that I wrote that. Not because I'm saying she's weird-- which I'm not-- well, yes, I am, but that's not the point. My wife would be all hissy-fit and screaming because I used the word "Halloween" to describe anything to do with her. To her Halloween is an abomination. It is a corruption of the true faith passed down through the generations from mother to daughter.
She puts up Halloween decorations and hands out candy to the kids and all that, but she insists that the true Celtic Dark Night, from which Halloween descends, is on the first dark of the moon following the Autumnal Equinox. That is when the veil between this world and the next-- and the previous-- is at its thinnest. Depending on how the solar and lunar calendars line up, Dark Night can be almost a month before October thirty-first. Dark Night is very special to my wife because that is when she and her friends gather to celebrate what she calls 'Shavnah'.
That's another way you can start a hissy-fit with her. If you transliterate the word for Dark Night from Gaelic letters into English letters, you end up with 'Samhain', which the supposed authority on all things Celtic, Gerald Gardiner, says should be pronounced "Soween." But my wife is adamant it is pronounced, "Shavnah" in the original Gaelic with the last part of the word sounding like "saw". If you say 'Soween', she will huff at you and say, "You might as well say Halloween."
She will then go on to say, "My family was pronouncing it 'Shavnah' for generations before that man was even born. If he had taken the time to actually speak to any of the Celts in Ireland rather than just burying his face in old books, he would have gotten that-- and a lot of other things-- right."
I think I need to back up and explain things a little. My wife and I are both Irish. She doesn't like to be called Irish either but she doesn't go all hissy-fit over it. Let me clarify a little further. We both trace our ancestry to Ireland and are as pure blood as anyone can be. I say I am Irish. My wife says she is Celtic. There is another word she uses, but I can't pronounce it. She says it was the name of the land when the Mother of the Glen still reigned over all that was green. My heritage is Irish. Her heritage is Celtic... very, very, Celtic.
Her name is also Celtic-- Díonó-- but nobody ever hears that right, so everyone calls her Diana. Her driver's license and things like that even say Diana Sidle, but her real name is Díonó Sidhé. Sidhé is not my last name. It's not her father's last name either. It is her mother's last name. And her mother's first name is Díonó. So they are both Díonó Sidhé.
Díonó kept her maiden name when we got married. That means her name is still the same as her mother's... and her dear departed grandmother's... and her great-grandmother's... and every other woman that I can find tracing her lineage back on her family tree.