Who needs a man when you've got your pension book?
I DIDN'T need anything but I still went to the shop in the hope of meeting the woman who hasn't had sex for 37 years. She was a no show. I'd have stayed longer but the rain was drizzling down in an annoying way. Annoying like those little mini ribs of hair that stick to the collar of your shirt after a trip to the barber.
I'll bet you feel itchy just thinking about it.
The worst ones are the sneaky, tiny clipped ribs that somehow find their way to the middle of your back. How they get there is a complete friggin' mystery. The hairdresser puts a towel around your neck and your clothes are tight enough but the little rogue mini rib still makes its way to the part of your back you can't quite reach.
I'm getting very bad now from thinking about the itch. Maybe I have fleas. Or are fleas extinct, victims of pesticides like DDT?
When I was a boy all the mothers used to shovel DDT under the under sheet, or the last sheet or whatever it's called.
The fleas were wiped out but subsequent studies have shown what's bad for fleas is bad for humans. I'm not sure if the DDT killed as many humans as fleas but for sure it can't have been good for us. The mothers used to think they were bad mothers if they didn't spread the DDT, such was the power of advertising.
The rogue mini hairs are a bit like that survivor sperm who makes it all the way. He's a hardy buck, that lone sperm, the Marco Polo of procreation, yet he is an unsung hero.
I was hoping to meet the woman who hasn't had sex for 37 years because she always has deadly mad opinions for columns. She comes out with some great statements as well.
I asked her if she'd like to marry again. The last husband died on her and it wasn't as long as 37 years ago either. I'd say it was the frustration got him in the end. I'd also say women don't realise how important sex is for men. Sorry, that should read some women.
There are many who are most obliging and considerate, even when they are not in the best of form.
I'm not sure if the woman who hasn't had sex for 37 years would even like some. She doesn't even buy the women's mags that are always on about experimental sex.
Thirty Seven, as I call her, gets 'Ireland's Own', which is also easily my favourite magazine. There's no sex in it but there's lots of really interesting articles about history, nature, phenomena and believe it or nots.
So when I asked 37 why she would never again get married, she replied "I wouldn't swap my pension book for any man."
Up to the time when she only hadn't had the sex for about 34 years, I used to think that her going on about it was some kind of plaintive cry for attention, or even a broad hint.
But looking back on it now, it may have been that I was thinking like a man. I'm now coming to the opinion that she's on an abstinence protest. Her late husband was a serial philanderer.
Few, if any people in Listowel know her identity.
So much so that some sceptics doubt if she actually exists but she does and sad to say there are thousands more like her all over the country and beyond.
Possibly, the reason Missus 37 told me her shocking story was that she knew I would put it in the paper. But Missus never buys the paper because she says "there's nothing in it."
It could be still be a protest, though, in that she only told me, and me alone, of her secret about not having the sex for the 37 years.
I'm pretty sure of that much. So if she only tells me, the only writer she knows, and the only writer she knows who is as cracked as herself, it could be that she is trying to make a statement and that I am her messenger. I feel used. I'm not in favour of people not having sex for 37 years. It's bad for men and for women.
Just a word of warning for the neighbours which arises from an encounter with a woman who wrongly guessed the identity of Missus 37.
I dearly love Listowel but our gossips get their facts wrong more often than even newspaper reporters.
Here's the warning. If you see me talking to a woman who is old enough not to have had sex for 37 years, please do not assume she is the one, because you would be wrong. I know I'm wasting my time. When do the facts ever get in the way of a good gossip?
It could be that Missus 37 has come to the conclusion that all men are idiots. She might be right. Last week we told of you of how the mother received a marriage proposal in the post, accompanied by a bar of nutty chocolate.
This week he sent her a party pack consisting of a bar of Turkish Delight, a holy picture of Saint Theresa of Avila and a scratch card. This is a sinister development. Turkish Delight is the mother's favourite chocolate.
She refused to eat it, but I did and I won a fiver from the scratching.