‘A threesome?’ Sorcha goes. ‘Why would you think I’d be into having a threesome?’

Sorcha asks if the beef is from a regenerative form and I end up having to look away. Seriously, you can’t bring her anywhere.
The poor waitress is like, “Regenerative?” obviously wondering what the fock she’s talking about.
Sorcha smiles at her – some would say patronisingly?
“As in, a form where the former rears livestock alongside the crops,” she goes, “in an effort to improve soil health?”
The waitress is like, “Oh, em, yes – absolutely,” like I do when Sorcha asks me if I separated the waste instead of just throwing it all into the black bin.
Sorcha goes, “I’ll have the beef then,” and I tell her that I’ll have the beef as well, then off the waitress focks.
Sorcha goes, “It’s amazing that grass-fed beef can be corbon-neutral, isn’t it?”
I don’t tell her the girl was humouring her just to move things along.
She goes, “So – this is nice, isn’t it?”
Yeah, no, it’s months since we were out for dinner together – as in, like, just the two of us?
She raises her glass and goes, “Happy anniversary!”
It’s our anniversary. I had literally no idea.
I’m there, “Oh, yes! Yes, indeed-io! The big one! The big, em – !”
“Twenty-one,” she goes.
I’m like, “Twenty-one! Twenty-one years! It’s a lot, isn’t it?”
She smiles and goes, “Do you remember they all thought we were mad getting married?”
I’m there, “I seem to remember it was mostly your old pair.”
“They said it wouldn’t last,” she goes.
I’m like, “Yeah, no, your old man was offering odds in his father of the bride speech.”
She laughs.
She goes, “And yet look at us, Ross. Here we are, still together all these years later.”
I’m there, “Fair focks to us. I’m saying that. Although – ”
She’s like, “What?”
I’m there, “We’ve broken up six or seven times in that period.”
She goes, “Let’s not talk about sad times. Not tonight.”
I’m like, “Fair enough.”
She goes, “We’ve done well, haven’t we?”
I’m there, “I suppose we have.”
She’s like, “Four beautiful children.”
I’m there, “That’s one way of looking at it.”
She’s, like, smiling at me across the table. She looks half-cut in the flickering candlelight.
She goes, “Ross, I’ve got something to ask you.”
I’m there, “Yeah, no, ask away,” wondering where the fock our storters are.
She goes, “How would you feel about adding to our number?”
I’m there, “Adding to – ?”
She’s like, “Our number?”
I’m there, “Are you talking about – ?” because I know I probably have to tread carefully here.
She goes, “Go on, what do you think I’m talking about?”
I’m like, “Okay, why don’t we both say it at the same time?”
She’s there, “Why?”
I go, “I’m just scared that adding to our number means something different to me than it does to you.”
She goes, “Fine, we’ll both say it on the count of three.”
I’m like, “One, two, three – a threesome.”
She stares at me across the table with her mouth wide open.
I’m there, “You, em, didn’t say anything.”
She goes, “Ross, I was talking about us having another baby.”
I’m like, “A what?”
She’s there, “A threesome? Why would you think I’d be into having a threesome?”
I’m like, “Why would you think I’d be into having another baby?”
“I don’t know,” she goes. “I’ve just been thinking about it a lot lately.”
I’m there, “Are you actually serious? At our age?”
She goes, “We’re 40, Ross.”
I stort looking under the table then.
She’s like, “What are you doing?”
I’m there, “I’m looking for the two or three years you seem to have lost from your life.”
“Ross,” she goes, “please be serious.”
I’m there, “I’m being serious. Isn’t it, like, dangerous?”
She goes, “Not necessarily. We can talk to someone about it. I was in college with a girl who’s just had a menopause baby. Come on, Ross. I’ve done the whole running my own fashion store thing. I’ve done the whole politics thing. The thing I think I was best at was being a mother.”
I’m like, “Hmmm.”
She goes, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I’m there, “It’s just that, you know, let’s call a spade a metal-bladed digging implement here. Our kids are rubbish, Sorcha.”
She looks at me like I’ve just storted pole-dancing in front of the entire restaurant.
She goes, “Excuse me?”
I’m there, “Come on, Sorcha. Our daughter is doing community service for vandalising cors.”
She’s like, “Yeah, in the cause of environmentalism?” and I wondered how long it would be before she rewrote the history of that episode.
I’m there, “And as for Brian, Johnny and Leo – ”
She goes, “What’s wrong with Brian, Johnny and Leo?”
I’m like, “I had big hopes that they’d end up with your brains and my rugby ability. Instead, they’ve ended up with my brains – ”
She goes, “That’s not a very nice thing to say about your own children.”
I’m there, “ – and your rugby ability. I’m not being a dick, but I saw you play Tag for LinkedIn two summers ago and I was embarrassed by you.”
She goes, “Ross, I really would like another baby.”
I’m there, “Sorcha, is it the drink talking?” because she had a morgarita before they showed us to our table and we’d be childless if it wasn’t for tequila.
She’s like, “No, it’s not the drink talking.”
I’m there, “But I already have, I don’t know, five kids – six kids.”
She goes, “Let’s be honest, we don’t know how many kids you have, Ross.”
I’m there, “That’s a low blow.”
She goes, “All I know is that I want one more.”
I’m there, “Sorcha, are you sure this isn’t just another one of your hare-brained ideas? Like getting Profhilo in your knees to make them look younger? Or that ormy diet you did before your last UCD reunion?”
She goes, “Ross, I’m serious.”
I’m there, “So am I. Sorcha, I’ve already had one hip replacement. The doctor says I’ll get – tops – two years out of the other one. All those jinking runs back in the day took their toll.”
She’s like, “Ross, I really want this. I want you to think about it.”