‘Apologies for writing fake news, but it turns out Mrs 39 may have had her tea cooled 38 years ago’

MRS 39, or to give her the full title The Woman Who Hasn’t Had Sex For 39 Years, now tells me she last had intimacies with a man only the bare 38 years ago.

The man in question was her ex-husband, who had serial and serious difficulties with the concept of monogamy.

Wouldn’t you think a woman would remember such an important detail? And will I have to change her name to The Woman Who Hasn’t Had Sex For 38 Years, or Mrs 38?

To say I was annoyed is very much an understatement. I’m not best pleased with Mrs 39, or should I say Mrs 38. The change of name could ruin the brand. Can you imagine the mayhem that would ensue if the M50 was changed to the M49 or if some revisionist historian said 1916 really happened in 1915 and the Rising was celebrated a year too late?

I owe the readers an apology for writing fake news, but it wasn’t my fault. You might be saying now why didn’t he get confirmation from another source, to be sure to be sure. Well how could I when the source, her ex, was dead? There was no other witness.

Back 38 years ago, the only form of a ménage à trois was the three-man full-forward line.

So the only ones present at the point of impact were Mrs 38/39 and her not so dear but very much departed husband, who even if he was alive wouldn’t remember anything anyway, seeing as he was drunk most of the time.

And I can hardly get in touch with a medium and ask her if she could get in touch with a dead man to ask him if he remembered the last time he had a touch with his missus.

I know, I know, I’m always giving out about Twitter and Facebook when people believe every word of a post without checking behind the facts.

Here’s a classic case on the difference between the reporting of a story on Facebook and the Irish Independent.

Danny Healy-Rae TD fell asleep on the occasion of the All-Ireland hurling final in Croke Park. Some person who was too busy minding everyone else’s business took a photograph of Danny while he was having a nap at half-time in the minor game.

Danny was tired from driving all the way up to Dublin from Kilgarvan, some five hours away. Twitter, Instagram and Facebook, the Terrible Triplets, went mad and accused Danny of falling asleep during the All-Ireland senior hurling final between Limerick and Galway, which was one of the most exciting games of all time.

Even a cursory examination of the photo showed empty seats. Not one person left for even a second of the pulsating senior final. Danny was found guilty of napping by the Terrible Triplets when there was no game being played.

The Irish Independent went to the trouble of calling Danny to find out what really happened and reported same, but by then Danny was guilty anyway in the Star Chamber of the Terrible Triplets, where the presumption of guilt is applied by the lazy and biased.

But back to Mrs 39. I am writing thus half-dead after five days of Listowel Races. The plight of Mrs 39 has touched the hearts of so many men who are here for our big festival. One kindly man offered, as he put it, “to put Mrs 39 out of her misery”.

I was approached by one of our top jockeys who wanted to meet up with Mrs 39 for a liaison but there was no way I was going to set up a match. There was the age difference, but the older woman is very much in fashion right now and rightly so. The main reason I didn’t give the jockey an introduction was because the same man was up before the stewards on several occasions for overuse of the whip. And when I explained Mrs 39 has no interest in the other thing, the suitors can’t seem to fathom that optional celibacy is a matter of choice.

I have been told lately that millions of Americans have become obsessed with the plight of Mrs 39 ever since she claimed aliens abducted her and dropped her off on the roof of the Trump Towers. Mrs 39 slated President Trump for “trying his case”, as she put it, which is an Irish expression for “chancing his arm” or offering “to cool her tea”.

Mrs 39 is too much the lady to use vulgar words like sex.

I have no proof other than Mrs 39’s assertion the president made a pass. I was going to ask him when he came to Doonbeg, the friendliest village ever.

The trip was cancelled earlier this week. Mrs 39 claims President Trump was afraid to face her after chancing his arm on the roof, the time the aliens told her they were only bringing her as far as her sister’s in Tralee for a bun. I tell her this sounds like fake news and ask for pictures of the aliens, which would pretty much prove her story and guarantee yours truly a Pulitzer Prize. Mrs 39 storms off in a huff.

Before the huff, I did try to ascertain whether or not she was Mrs 39, or Mrs 38. I asked questions like what was number one on the night the deed was done? She couldn’t remember.

I’m going to stick with Mrs 39 anyway, for at least another year, until her 40th.

Word has just reached me that Mrs 39 in on her way to Lisdoonvarna.

For those of you in America, Lisdoonvarna hosts a matchmaking festival every September. Not everyone who goes to Lisdoonvarna is looking for a partner.

There’s all-day dancing, afternoon tea and taking the waters. Mrs 39 refused to have anything to do with the people who came to Listowel Races. She said “not everyone who goes racing is a chancer, but all chancers go racing”.

Why would Mrs 39 decide to go to Lisdoonvarna? It could be for the dancing and the companionship. Or to take the spa waters. Still though. My source just texted.

“Mrs 39 got the hair done.”

I know millions of women get the hair done to look nice, and not necessarily for the getting of a man. But the new hair-do (perm) would get you thinking though, wouldn’t it?

Millions of Americans have become obsessed with Mrs 39 since she claimed aliens abducted her and dropped her off on the roof of the Trump Towers. Mrs 39 slated President Trump for ‘trying his case’, an Irish expression for ‘chancing his arm’