Billy Keane: 'Bottom line for Mrs 39 is she worries the CIA and Trump will throw her good son out of USA'
The Woman Who Hasn't Had Sex for 39 Years isn't herself. She's giving out a lot these days but there's always a reason.
The shortening of the evenings doesn't help. Mrs 39 stays in bed late in the cold weather with her permanently hot, hot water bottles. She keeps several in the bedroom and when one gets cold, she fills up another from the big 15-litre Burco boiler beside the bed.
Mrs 39 can fill the hot water bottle without ever leaving the bed. The only problem is the flowing of the water from the boiler triggers off the bladder and Mrs 39 has to get up to go to the toilet.
I know what you're thinking. She used to have a pee pot but Mrs 39 got rid of it. I'm going to tell you the reason.
Mrs 39 said a combination of advancing years, agoraphobia, and the buttering of Marietta biscuits on both sides caused her bottom to grow too big for the pot. "My cheeks, Sweet William," she said, "were hanging out over the side like geraniums."
Once again, I know what you're thinking. How can you compare a bottom to a geranium?
Well, I checked this one out and it is a fact geraniums grow too big for the hanging baskets and the tresses of red petals fall over the side. I think we are very much looking at a metaphor here.
It wasn't that I was looking but Mrs 39's bottom looked tidy enough to me. This was back in sweltering June, which was the last time she took off the old coat which forms a second epidermis.
Mrs 39 can't afford to buy a new one as the bad son has her bled dry. He's in England and is fond of foreign holidays to everywhere except home to see his mother.
Mrs 39 is broke from him.
One of the neighbours told me the real reason Mrs 39 got rid of the pee pot - or po as it's called in polite circles - was because of the Man Under the Bed.
There wasn't really a Man Under the Bed but Mrs 39 thought there was and she called gardaí several times.
The guards were very nice to her but this had to stop. One of the gardaí, who will surely become commissioner some day, came up with an ingenious solution. The garda sawed off the legs of the bed and Mrs 39 accepted there was no possibility of a man hiding underneath a bed without any legs.
Mrs 39 isn't in the best of form and she is giving out like mad. She hasn't much time for the big shots who seemingly ignore her when they pass her by on the street. Says Mrs 39: "I had no driveway going up to my house but some of them what does, don't have no class."
When Mrs 39 starts talking in bad grammar I change her name to Mrs Do Be or Mrs Does Be.
She says The Big Shots do be always going off with each other's spouses or they do be drinking red wine on the sofa until they "wommits" all over the children.
By the way, "wommit" isn't Gromit's brother from Wallace and Gromit. "Wommit" is vomit as spoken by people who can't pronounce their v's.
There used to be thousands around north Kerry who made w's, and f's too, out of v's. But unfortunately us townies used to be laughing at them and now we hardly ever get asked for a wodka and fight. Which, by the way, if you haven't already figured it out, is vodka and white.
Mrs 39 puts on the act. Normally she is very well spoken.
Mrs 39 said: "The teacher walloped us so hard we were fit to read the news for the BBC by the time we left sixth class."
I think the reason Mrs 39 lapses in to an out-of-fashion patois is because of low self-esteem. Poor Mrs 39 never recovered from the time the husband ran off with the 20 year old to Maidenhead in England and from there to Wancouver, which is in Canada.
The bad son is no use. He called her the other day to say he wouldn't be home for the pre-Christmas visit he never made - unless he was stuck for cash.
"I'm going to Cancun with her indoors," he said. The son has taken to using expressions like her indoors, mate and blimey.
I'd love to bate him. The last time the son was at home, in 2002, he spent the weekend in the betting shop telling the lads he had 25 men under him in Woking, which really is Woking and not Voking.
Mrs 39's good son is like the good brother of the Bulgers from Boston, Whitey being the bad one.
The good son lives in New York and is undocumented. He sends his mom money but she just sends it back.
The good son can't come home. He has a wife and kids in America.
New York has been home for the last 25 years. The good son might be able to get back, thanks to Donald Trump who is cracking down on the Irish-American cities in a big way.
The good son offered to pay his mom's fare. Mrs 39 refuses to travel over.
It's too much for her she says and I kind of know what she means.
One of the son's pals said he would travel with Mrs 39 and bring her back home but she declined.
She feels guilty over not travelling to see her son, his wife, who gets Mrs 39, and the grandchildren she has never seen. I think the real story is Mrs 39 didn't want to cause her son too much expense.
The son might just take a chance and come home for a few weeks. He is very fond of his mam and never blames her for her eccentric behaviour.
His mam, though, has somehow gotten it into her head that she will be followed by the CIA to the son's apartment and they will then all end up in jail.
I wouldn't put it past Trump. Our government should ask Trump to deport all the railways, airports, schools and hospitals the Irish built for America.
I promise I will let you know if Mrs 39 changes her mind between here and Christmas.