Dingle All the Way I love Ireland. Yeah, who doesn't, especially after 3 pints of cider in a single evening? I wasn't sure about the affair after nearly a week on the road – a week of driving on the left-hand side down lanes skinnier than driveways outside many American homes; a week of winding our way from the top of the Emerald Isle to the Southwest, a week of way-finding and "How much for a family room?" and "If I don't get away from these kids [uh, Finley] soon, I will lose my mind." Yeah, there's all that. Then, there's tonight. A night that probably shouldn't have been mine. I asked Chelsea to take the kids back to the B&B so I could check out a pub I'd read about in a guide book; one I liked mostly for its name: Dick Mack's. Somewhere I read an ad that said, "Where is Dick Mack's? Across the street from the church. Where's the church? Across the street from Dick Mack's." It's a former shoeshi...
When you look like your passport photo, it's time to go home. - Erma Bombeck