Author's Warning: Like everything else, this takes place in my series, set up by the events in my first story "More Than My Friend" where the big event is that Frankie adopts Mac as her "little brother". If you haven't read that story yet, I strongly suggest you do so now, or else you might get terribly confused.
"TOP OF THE MORNING TO YOU, PAL!"
The joyous, ear-splitting scream echoed loudly throughout the small bedroom, forcing the little boy to snap out of a his deep slumber with a hoarse yelp as he shot upright with a start. Severely disorientated, Mac could do little more than gawk dumbly at the grinning redhead standing in his doorway as what sounded suspiciously like Irish folk music blared from her own bedroom across the hallway.
"…Huh?" the child managed to murmur sleepily. "Frankie, what are you -WAUGH!"
He had barely started mumbling when Frances "Frankie" Foster, still smiling like an idiot, jigged barefoot across his room and swept the extremely dozy little one up into her arms with ease.
"Happy St. Paddy's Day, Macky-Boy!" she whooped loudly in an absolutely atrocious imitation of an Irish accent.
"…Wha?" the still-drowsy child just grunted bewilderedly as she lifted him high into the air.
"Happy St. Patrick's Day, pal" she repeated gleefully with a fat smile that spanned from cheek to cheek as she glowed with genuine enthusiasm. "Time to celebrate!"
It was right then that Mac finally realized that along with the usual violet skirt, instead of her trademark Powerpuff Girls shirt and sweater combination, his guardian was proudly sporting a bright green T-shirt over her favorite violet nightgown, which displayed the phrase MADE IN IRELAND prominently in capital white letting.
"…Huh?" he whimpered as he tried wiping the sleep from his eyes, all the while hoping this was just some extremely bizarre dream.
"Seventy-five-percent of the blood in these veins comes straight from the Emerald Isle!" Frankie boasted happily as soon as she saw that he was reading her garment. "Grandma always taught me to be proud of my roots, and there's no better day to do it! C'mon, pal, time to let loose and-"
"Now?" he whined incredulously, desiring nothing more than to be curled back up under his covers. Frankie giggled and nodded eagerly.
"Yes, of course now! Why not? I'm Irish, time for me to seize the day and be proud of what I am!"
"But do you have to do it so early?" Mac groaned wearily.
"Oh, c'mon!" she just tittered playfully with a quick nuzzle as she drew him close, much to the cranky child's extreme displeasure. "Nothing wrong to be enthusiastic about our heritage, is there?"
"Cut it out! Heritage schmeritage!" he snapped as he tried to unsuccessfully squirm free. "You're only doing it right now just for some cheap laughs, aren't you?"
"Now what would give you that idea?" she only chortled amusedly with a playful wink.
"You are!" Mac whined accusingly. "You always like to wake me up like this when you can! I don't care how proud you are of whatever, you can't use it as an excuse to pull stuff like this off! I don't know why you think it's always funny whenever you get to barge in and-"
"Well I personally can't think of a better way to start off the holiday!" Frankie only laughed as she amusedly watched him wriggle in her tenaciously loving grasp before she cooed deviously,"C'mon, it's cute when you're cranky."
"Cut it out!" he begged."Frankie, I-AUGH! Stoppit! Stoppit! Stoppit!"
Cackling gleefully, Frankie broke out into an improvised Irish jig before lifting him high again as she startled twirling about the room.
"Buck up, me boyo!" she laughed as she slipped back into the horribly phony accent. "Be proud of your Foster heritage, and celebrate! Everyone's a little Irish today!"
"No! C'mon, put me down! Put me down!" Mac wailed as everything became a blur. "Frankie, it's not funny! Stoppit! Cut it out!"
"Nuh-uh!" she refused merrily, grinning like a nitwit. "Not until you tell me how proud you are to be-"
"Just put me down!" the severely dizzy child pleaded. "Please, just put me down!"
No matter how shamelessly he begged, his guardian continued gleefully dancing about, thoroughly enjoying her fun for all it was worth until her peals of laughter managed to attract the attention of a familiar wrinkled face passing by.
"What's all this ruckus about?" Madame Foster asked curiously as she peered into the room. Giggling uproariously, Frankie ceased her spinning and greeted warmly with a fat grin.
"Happy Saint Patrick's Day, Grand-"
"Eh? What's that say there?" the little old woman interrupted as she noticed the lettering on her granddaughter's shirt. "Wait, what's…'Made in…Ireland'?"
"Yeah, see?" Frankie puffed out her chest proudly. "Got it a few days ago! I-"
Before she could utter a single word more, much to her surprise her grandmother started shaking her head as she corrected gently, "Oh no, dearie, not Ireland…Bermuda."
The smile abruptly retreated from Frankie's face as her grandmother's words sent her spiraling deep into confusion. "Huh? Grandma, what're you talking about? You always told me that our ancestors came from-"
However, her protests fell entirely onto deaf ears as Madame Foster scratched her head and started murmuring thoughtfully to her self, "Wait was it really Bermuda? Or…was it the Bahamas? Puerto Rico? Hmmm…or was it…huh…"
"…Uh, Grandma?" the enormously befuddled caretaker continued to try and object. "The Fosters didn't come from the Caribbean. You always told me that they immigrated from County Galway in Ire-"
"No, no!" Madame Foster burst out chuckling as a smile spread across her wizened features. "Oh silly me, what on earth was I thinking? I had it right the first time. Yes, I remember it now…your parents vacationed in Bermuda that year, not Ireland…"
With this, she nodded politely and hobbled off, chortling softly to herself all the while as she made her exit. "Goodness, I can't believe I could barely remember that….Ha! Probably forget my own head if it wasn't attached to my neck…honestly…"
At first, Mac didn't exactly know what to make of the old woman's puzzling correction. But if the fact that Frankie had gone completely ashen-faced in total appall was any indicator, he had just witnessed something he probably was best off not understanding.
While the child struggled to make sure he didn't think too much about what just happened, Frankie just stood rooted where she stood, with pallor as white as a sheet and emerald eyes bugging unblinkingly to the size of dinner plates in revulsion the likes of which no words in any language could possibly have a chance of describing. Clearly, her celebratory mood had just met a swift, nasty demise.
Suddenly, without a word of warning, Frankie set Mac hastily but gently upon the ground, and immediately tore the T-shirt off so quickly and so frantically it was as if someone had just lit the garment ablaze. As she hurled the now-offensive shirt across the room, the little boy immediately threw his hands up over his eyes the instant he saw spotted her slightly faded white bra.
"Ew!" he yelped. "Put on a-AUGH! Wait, wait, don't! Please! Blech!"
Despite his frantic pleas, the soundly disgusted young woman swiftly scooped Mac back up into her arms and hugged him tightly, much like an upset toddler would to a favorite toy or stuffed animal. After clasping the uncomfortable child close and shuddering uncontrollably, Frankie ran out into the hall, shot a nasty glare in the direction of her grandmother, then hollered at the top of her lungs,
"IT'S NOT SUPPOSED TO BE TAKEN LITERALLY!"
The End