It was one of those moments when all our energy and attention went into keeping our faces expressionless, as she presented the ludicrous, risible idea that her alliance with yet another middle-aged house painter (this one an illegal Irish immigrant) was not doomed ab initio, from the point ten years ago when he decided impulsively to come to America, bringing his tractable younger brother with him, when the two of them were still bruised and tipsy from a fine old brannigan at the local Strabane pub and a decade before he’d even met our daughter.