The Woman Who Hasn't Had Sex for 39 Years still has three bags full and the Man Who Knows Everything voted for himself.
She who voluntarily did without for nigh-on four decades was inundated this morning.
Her small house was full up to the roof and there were sheaves of cards bulging out of the letterbox from those who delivered by hand.
There were more flowers than you'd get at a gangland funeral. The smell was stronger than the entrance to one of the big department stores where they keep the perfume.
Just to be clear, I am writing this on the morning of St Valentine's Day, which is yesterday, or Friday.
The post persons are worn out from delivering cards to Mrs 39. They delivered by regular bag, wheelbarrow and low-loader.
The boxes of chocolates and the lingerie were piled so high the light was shut out like black-out blinds. Mrs 39 didn't know day from night.
Mrs 39 has no interest in sex. Her husband, who was her one and only lover, ran off with a young wan 38 years ago yesterday.
Running off with a young wan on Valentine's Day and leaving Mrs 39 with the rearing of two children all on her own didn't put Mrs 39 off the romance. It's the sex she doesn't like.
Sometimes she waltzes with her fox terrier Marty when Marty Whelan plays Mick Bublé on the radio.
It might not be exactly true to say the first and only husband was her only lover. It depends on your definition. There was another lover back in the seventies. Well sort of. Mrs 39 was walking out with a boy for seven months when they were both 19. After six months or so they indulged in what was known as a bit of outside the geansaí. Geansaí is Irish for a jumper in Ireland, or a sweater in America. There wasn't much sweating or jumping going on though.
Outside the geansaí was the term for when the boyfriend was allowed for a few seconds - and outside the jumper mind - to put his hands on... well, I'll leave the rest to your imagination. This was a big treat back in the days when the Church ruled our morality. The couples tried out outside the geansaí as it was only a venial sin, which meant that if you died of a heart attack from the excitement of it all, then you would not go to hell.
"Men always fancied me," said Mrs 39. Millions of men, worldwide, have it very bad for Mrs 39. There isn't a day that goes by that some lad doesn't come in to our pub and volunteer "to put Mrs 39 out of her misery".
I was in The Hole in the Wall pub in Lanzarote a couple of weeks back and I got talking to this English man up at the bar.
He was good company, mainly because he hadn't a clue about Gaelic football and there was no mention of Dublin winning the five-in-a-row.
His was waiting on his second wife. So naturally I asked him about his first marriage. Sometimes men will tell their innermost secrets to strangers on holidays and never mention a word to their best friends.
He explained why the first marriage broke up. "I mistook regular sex for love."
Thousands of men crave the thing they cannot get. There's more to life than sex.
Mrs 39's age is her secret. We will not divulge her age due to convention and the risk of a prosecution from the GDPR. Suffice to say Mrs 39 will be getting the pension at 65 if Mary Lou becomes Taoiseach.
The Man Who Knows Everything (TMWKE) says the young people are foolish because they voted for Sinn Féin. "It's like lambs voting for Easter and fish voting for Good Friday," he says. "Why"? asks I. He sighs at my ignorance and says: "You are writing for the paper and you don't know. Well it's the young people who will be paying the €620m every year until we die on account of us getting the pension at 65 instead of 67. Ha ha ha." I try to slip away but TMWKE surrounds me. There is no escape.
"I voted for myself you know." This time I don't ask him why, but he tells me anyway.
"I voted for myself because there was no one smarter than me on the ballot paper."
For your information, TMWKE did not stand for election but he did get two votes. We will explain later on and the explanation is bad news for yours truly.
I move to the left and I move to the right, physically, but the man who got two votes blocks my escape route. He has another theory.
"The young people voted for Sinn Féin because of the gap year."
"Is it how," asks I, "they are giving a gap year grant to all the young people?"
TMWKE is astonished at my ignorance and says as much. He continues thus.
"The young people all go off on a gap year to Machu Picchu and Vietnam to find themselves and then when they come home they have to go off on another gap year to find their old selves. If they spared up their money instead of going off spending a fortune on gap years and losing a couple of years' wages, then they wouldn't be so stuck for the deposit for a house."
So I say: "Let them enjoy themselves, they'll be working for good soon enough."
TMWKE pours scorn on that argument. "The only gap year we had in my time was shovelling muck in Camden Town."
His second vote came from Mrs 39. She scribbled his name on the ballot paper with a big, bold one beside it.
"He's a very interesting man," she says. "He said my husband must have been a desperate fool to run off on me." I'm in shock. Could it be Mrs 39 has fallen for TMWKE? Could the intimacy go further than outside the geansaí? Is there a chance the kisses will go Gallic?
What will I do if they click? Mrs 39 is my stock in trade.
TMWKE has a sweet tooth and Mrs 39 was gifted 1,317 boxes of chocolates for Valentine's Day from the men "who want to cure what ails her". TMWKE would stay eating Roses all day and she'd stay listening to him talking all day.
What will I write about if TMWKE shifts Mrs 39? Millions of plaintive men all over the world will cancel their subscription to the paper and I will be fired. This could be the second seismic shift in the one week.