I have so much sodium I could assault the devil

I would drink the Irish Sea if I could.

Lent is upon us. I traditionally give up sweets, but I knew exactly what else I had to give up: my beloved salt shaker. I have so much sodium in my body, people started picking me up and throwing me over their shoulder to ward off the devil. I talked to my mom on Facebook chat, and she was unsure about what to give up for Lent.

Audrey: I just ate a candy bar after realizing Lent is in three days.
Mom: OMG I better think of something to give up!
Audrey: How about teen acronyms?

Giving up sweets isn’t too difficult, but I do miss my salt. My food tastes so bland. Lasagna tastes like lasagna now instead of salt, and I can’t stand it.

Fat Tuesday was just that

I had fish and chips for the first time in Ireland in the legit fishing village of Howth. Not only did they have fish, they had seals! Not for eating, for admiring lovingly from a distance. They were just chilling out in the harbor waiting to be fed. Seals are lazy buggers. They howl, “AR AR AR” instead of properly articulating “Are you going to feed me, kind lass?” Or maybe they just have a worse stutter than Moses.

Sing "Kiss From a Rose"!

We hiked the Bray Head trail and came across a field of semi-wild horses. Their ropes were frayed, so I’m guessing they went rogue. I’ve learned to always carry food with me in case I come across wildlife, so I whipped out some white bread and started making equine acquaintances. Dan wanted to get on one, but was unsure if he should. I encouraged him to do so because it was a win-win situation. If the horse stays still, then I can get on him. If the horse runs wildly away with Dan on his back, I won’t ever have to see Dan again. The horse stood still, and so I was also able to take a turn on him. However, once I mounted him, he started moving away. The others started yelling at me to jump off. It looked like I might have been attempting to dismount, but I was trying to reach the rein and ride off into the mountains. But, I couldn’t reach it. I yelled, “Abort! Abort!” and let the steed gallivant off. I think he wanted to take me on a tour of the countryside as a token of gratitude for the delectable grains.

Mounting on a mountain

We’ve been watching The Story of Ireland for the past six weeks. It’s a show about Ireland’s history that plays at 10pm, a time where I’m ready for bed and can’t absorb any information said in a monotone. The only thing I’ll remember from the seven hours we’ve spent reliving Ireland’s history is the presenter, Fergal Keane. He looks like Bono from a distance, but unlike Bono, you don’t want to listen to what comes out of Fergal’s mouth.

Example:

Fergal Keane is holding a picture of a woman wearing a white dress and veil walking out of a church with a man in a tuxedo:

Is this a photo of you on your wedding day?

No, that’s from when she went to play Skeeball at Chuckee Cheez. Come on, Fergal!

Not too keen are we, Fergal?