So we strolled through St. Stephen’s Green on Friday — three hours after arriving in Dublin on four hours’ sleep — and, since I was a Bad Tourist and hadn’t read my guidebook, Q surprised us mightily by casually steering us toward the Oscar Wilde statue (a.k.a. “the fag on the crag”) in the gorgeous park. Total herogasm. (Sticklers for accuracy will note I’ve digitally cleaned the vandal’s mustache from Mr. Wilde’s upper lip.)

My cockles were thoroughly warmed in the wet, chilly air by the giggles of everyone walking around and reading the quote-pillars.