When I tell you that I'm a leprechaun, you're probably picturing a little ole' man with a green suit. That and a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Well, check your gender norms at the door because I'm a woman. And there's no fucking pot of gold anymore; the luck of the Irish ran a long time ago. European financial crisis, anyone?
There also seems to be this myth that if I'm discovered by a human I'll grant you three wishes. Let me clear this up right now: I'm not the genie. Don't go rubbing me (you fucking perv). And don't pester me with your wishes. You wish for a million dollars? Well I wish for the potato famine to end.
Stop comparing me to the Lucky Charms leprechaun. First of all, no, I can't get you in contact with him. Just because I'm a leprechaun doesn't mean that I know all the other leprechauns. Racism (Speciesism? IDK). That's like me asking if you could get me in touch with Ryan Gosling because, y'know, you're both humans so I figured you knew each other.
More importantly, most of us don't live the life of luxury that Mr. Lucky Charms does. We can't all be the face of a major cereal brand. I count my pennies and clip my coupons just like you do. Blimey O'Reilly.
