Mary McAllister, a hardworking maid from the small village of Aberfeldy, had just wrapped up another backbreaking day. She’d spent hours scrubbing floors, hanging laundry in the cold wind, and polishing dishes till they sparkled. Her hands were raw, her feet ached, and all she could think was, “I need somethin’ tae warm me up.”
As she wandered the bustling streets of London, her eyes landed on a fancy-looking pub with shiny windows and gold lettering. She hesitated for a moment, tucking her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “Och, Mary,” she thought, “why no’? Ye’ve earned yerself a wee drink after a day like today. No harm in a pint.”
Pushing the door open, she stepped inside. The place was far grander than she’d expected, with polished wood, brass fittings, and well-dressed patrons quietly chatting. Mary shuffled up to the bar, feeling a bit out of place but determined to enjoy herself.
The bartender, a tall, polished fellow with a stiff white shirt and an air of superiority, approached her. “Good evening. What can I get for you?” he asked in a clipped, formal tone.
Mary glanced at the gleaming taps. “Well,” she began, “what do ye have on tap, then? Whit d’ye recommend fer me?”
The bartender gave her a polite, practiced smile. “We have excellent drafts. Anheuser-Busch?”
Mary’s eyes went wide, her cheeks turning pink. “Best not tae cause a scene,” she thought. Then, with all the composure she could muster, she replied, “Mine’s fine, thank ye kindly. And how’s yer pecker?”
The bartender froze, nearly dropping the glass he was polishing. The room fell silent for a beat before erupting into laughter.
Mary, unfazed, took her pint with a satisfied nod and thought, “London folk are a strange lot.” |
