I used to walk around Dublin on Sundays with a curious lad. We walked a few miles from the school halls into Dublin, across the Liffey, and back down Rathmines. When we were on the north side of the Liffey, we had had lunch at a Chinese restaurant where he had eaten loads of fried meat and mysteriously felt stomach pains. We were walking back through Dublin, and we strolled around a little park on the end of Grafton Street called St Stephen’s Green.
As we chatted and walked, a woman came up to us.
“Can I talk to the young lady for a moment?” she asked shyly in her Dublin accent. Perplexed, I followed her out of earshot and she alerted me to the fact that my dress was tucked into my tights. I had walked across downtown Dublin with my underwear (the old woman kind) in full view of everyone for an entire afternoon! I have no idea how the lad I was with hadn’t noticed. The horror.