Happy happy
March 19, 2006
In honor of St. Patrick's Day (which was Friday for those among you who dare be so ignorant) I wore the "Touch of Irish" (and what a touch) t-shirt I bought while souvenir shopping on my last day in Dublin at the behest of Mr. Inkwell and Ibe.
To "celebrate" I went out with PG, who was wearing the Guinness t-shirt I bought him in Ireland ("I can resist everything except temptation," it says, quoting Oscar Wilde, with a picture of a Guinness pint where the period should be.) We had a drink and lounged in the sun for a couple of hours with friends coming and going, but I got shy after half an hour of having my Irish-touched breasts exposed to the Egyptian waitstaff, and I shrugged on my cardigan, instead just flashing my friends the t-shirt whenever they showed up and PG urged me to do so.
I finally left as the sunstroke was setting in - I had obligations at home. But PG was to meet his girlfriend and her Northern Irish friend to continue the festivities late into the night, and I left him with strict orders to collect as many phone numbers of drunken Irish lads as possible. He's usually good about this sort of thing. I wonder if I'm to look forward to an Irish surprise tomorrow at art therapy.