Oh, Ireland ...

I had the idea in my head that I might adopt a husband in Ireland. Oh, not really. I'm not stupid. But I thought, wouldn't it be nice? And I do love it here, so how perfect would it be if I got to get married and live here to boot?

Alas. It seems that every citizen of the good old R of I has either a drinking problem, or a smoking problem, or a swearing problem, and quite frequently it's all three. Men here also seem to think that an appropriate way to let a woman know they find her attractive is to honk at her and shout suggestive things through the open windows of their automobiles.

Classy.

So I think I'm back to the idea of adopting domestically. Fewer legal issues to worry about, and I'll at least know where my future husband's family is coming from. There aren't a lot of big, important cultural differences over here, but I think, what if I did marry an Irish man, and his mother held it against me that I'm American? What if she'd had her eye on a local lass for her son to marry and she hated me for ruining her plans?

Really, I've dodged a bullet here. Ideally, I'll adopt a husband from a nice family who loves me and thinks I'm great. People here just seem to think I need a flatiron.

But it is lovely and green, and I'm going to miss it. I'd love to come back someday soon. I'm thinking honeymoon.