The leprechauns assured me that the green submarine was seaworthy.
After 8 green beers, I wasn’t in a mood to argue. It was time to leave whatever O’ something bar we had landed at. The police were coming and I didn’t want to explain the leprechauns to them.
Getting into the submarine required some acrobatics and yoga on my part, as the submarine was built for leprechauns, and not a fully-grown woman. With a size 38C bra.
Once all of my appendages had been stuffed through the beach ball-sized entrance, we began our decent. I had to sit on the ground, but, hey, there was plenty of green beer to go around. It was sort of like being Snow White. But Irish. And drunk.
I didn’t know what kind of adventures were on the horizon–in fact, we were headed away from the horizon. Because we were in a submarine. But I figured I would be a valuable asset, as I could restrain belligerent leprechauns with my sheer size.
“Top of the morning to ya, underwater!” I said at the top of my lungs. “Let’s go guard some pots of gold!”
Everyone cheered. I was home.