Laetitia and her group visited Cascade Sikiyou National Monument and then stopped for lunch at an Irish pub called Clancy’s in Merrill, Oregon before crossing the border into California. The Guinness was flowing and there was a rowdy lunch crowd in the place. Especially exuberant was a young woman named Meg who was the life of the party and would later become the source of the day’s limerick.
Laetitia sat at the bar during lunch and was engaged in conversation by the young man on the next stool, whose line was that he was a novelist who was soon to have first big break, and he was looking for an amiable young woman to share his fortune with. Laetitia politely told him that she was otherwise occupied leading a tour, but undeterred, he thrust a rumpled piece of paper into her hand that contained, as it turned out, all there was to his novel. It read:
She said she was French and lived in London. But there was something about her that didn’t add up—the blue-eyed, red-haired, freckle-faced colleen who Kerry-danced into the Shamrock as I sat at the bar drinking Guinness and listening to that famous Irish tenor, Placid O’Domingo, singing Fields of Athenry. I couldn’t figure out what it was until he began singing Danny Boy, and suddenly it hit me in the face like of bowl of Bushmill porridge that I was fated to share a destiny with her—this lady with the London derrière.
That evening, Laetitia presented the limerick of the day to the group.
Attired in her finest apparel
And astride of a lager beer barrel
Meg lifted her skirt
When she wanted to flirt
With the pub crowd at Clancy’s in Merrill.