I, Celtic Warrior Goddess Morrigan, Am in Love with You, Fleabag Hot Priest
You will be mine!
By Debbie L. Miller
Yay, I’m a badass, famous for waging wars, pillaging, and wreaking havoc, but I’ve been brought to my knees by you, Hot Priest, you sweet, boyish man. I am entranced by your brown doe eyes and Irish brogue. And, I vow to mend my wicked ways for you. I am finished with violence.
I’m a Celtic warrior goddess, high priestess of pain. But, you make me want to give up my evil ways. I cannot eat, I cannot sleep, and I am losing my desire to kill and maim. I, Morrigan, equated with death and torture, who brings down mortal men without remorse, am softening. I cannot help it. One look at you, Hot Priest, turns my aggression to mush. I would give up all my power if you would but be my man.
I’m in love with you — the way you guzzle G & T, the gentle way you take to guinea pigs and profess your love for Winnie the Pooh. You make me want to stay home and bake cookies. I long to nest and make a hearth for you. I want to have your babies, Hot Priest. I want to cook you coddle and soda bread, stobhach gaelach, and boiled pigs’ trotter. (I’ll slaughter the pig.)
Hot Priest, you have disarmed me with your beautiful neck and your cherubic smile. And, those arms! I would kill for you…