New Yorker, on cell to fiancée: Honey, all set here for our wedding, when you coming over? I got both of our rings, in nine-carat gold! (appalled silence in carriage) Yeah, your finger's gonna go green and fall off or something? What the hell's wrong with nine-carat gold? Hey! Of course I love you more than I love my mom! Come on! What is this about?
Train
Dublin
Ireland
