I suppose the only thing more annoying than a gay blogger going on and on about his hot boyfriend and their wonderful, mutually supportive relationship built on trust, open communication, and hot sex (note to Manly Fireplug: I beg you, do not reveal to my loyal readers that I am a singular Piece. Of. Work.) is a gay blogger who goes on and on about his new puppy.
Too bad for you. I am merely making up for the fact that I only have one, ONE, picture of Louie as a puppy, and it’s a murky polaroid.
And I know that the little monkey will be noticeably larger after the Fireplug and I return from our ten-day trip to Ireland, which we leave for in less than two weeks. We bought our plane tickets months ago, before Finley was even born, when Aer Lingus (heh, he said “Lingus”) announced cheap nonstop flights from San Francisco to Dublin, and when the Fireplug realized he was eligible for Irish citizenship, due to relatives who were born there.
Now he has an Irish passport, and has become much more valuable to me. For if everything goes to shit here, we might be able to sneak over to one of the other EU countries, where he can finally make an honest pervert out of me. So we’ll be touring the country, our itinerary planned around various relatives, through Dublin, Belfast, Derry, and Galway, taking our lives – and the lives of various locals – into our hands with the help of a rental car and two international drivers’ licenses.