One of those bad boys

I have an ingrown hair on my boob, which is both painful and embarrassing, and this time I'm definitely not going to tell anybody about it. Except my new friend Teagan, of course, who is like the sister I never had and understands absolutely everything I say.

"On your boob?" she shrieks. "Come on! You mean on your neck, right?"

"No," I sigh. "I mean on my boob."

Like I said, painful and embarrassing. I wonder if I should see a doctor? The sister I never had isn't sure. A doctor? That's a bit extreme, isn't it? Hmm. I think she may be right. Oh, what to do, what to do?

"You're going to be fine," says Teagan, eventually, slinging a supportive arm over my shoulder and looking wistfully out of the window. "Look, can't you just try to enjoy it? Ingrown hairs were some of my best nights in ever. Haven't had one of those bad boys in a while."

David and Fiona and Lola the Dog

The Trouble with Shoes

I have to buy a pair of shoes and I don't want to. I don't understood the point of them — I like boots. Yes, I know, it's not the nineties. But what happens when you find yourself in a fight all of a sudden and need to defend yourself and/or run away?

Not that I'm planning on getting into a fight this weekend. It's that poetry awards thing in Cork and then it's Conor's film premiere in Galway. It's not a weekend for fighting and/or running away; it's a weekend for art and culture; and "shoes" I suppose.

But the shop windows are full of heels and straps and open toes and I can feel panic set in and wish I could just buy a pair of big old lace-up boots and be done with it all.

Well, maybe I forgot to switch my telepather to silent, or maybe Conor just knows me well enough by now, because he points out a pair of black military boots and says hey, what about those, and I feign disdain and say hey, it's not the nineties y'know.

But really I am pleased and happy, and I buy the boots and feel better about life and all its possibilities. Then we get in the car and drive across Ireland; head for the horizon til we get to West Cork.

July

Who knew July would turn out this way? When we talk I want to kiss and when we kiss I have a million things I want to say.