|Don't I look jolly?|
(Just a note: The afternoon when we'd first hit Killarney, we went to a sports uniform shop in a little mall and found nice jersey shirts like the ones we wanted, but they cost 50 Euros and up ($65 American).)
He said, "Hello" back, kind of weaving as if he were standing aboard a ship in a fair-sized gale. Shirt man slurred his words badly and had a horrible time trying to say anything. I knew he was either heavily blitzed or more than a little mentally challenged. But since he was in a pub and sloshing a drink around in his hand, it was undoubtedly the first.
The woman with Shirt Guy was really sweet. I thought she (Jac B Bsomething I found out later) might be his wife, but if she was, she was awfully okay with strange women asking him to take his shirt off in public--and hand it over.
The first time back that woman asked if we wanted pictures with him. I thought that was interesting, so we did it. He went and got another shirt on and came back, still carrying my sweatshirt and still wearing the ball cap. So I was still thinking he might regret his folly. I went to hang with Mom--you know--out of sight, out of his mind.