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Not a hope in hell of finding our thiGH gaps

We were hanging out in Maggie's house because we were too broke to go to the coffee shop.

In the background Michael Noonan, between some rowdy jeering, was expounding on the budget and somehow making it sound like we had won the lotto.

While Maggie was emptying the biscuit barrel of the last of the digestives, Patsy was surreptitiously topping up her coffee with the sediment from a half bottle of Baileys she had produced from about her person. She explained with a look of deep regret that there just wasn't enough to go around.

After a couple of sips she turned to me and, as if I was the oracle of body parts, asked what exactly was a thigh gap when it was at home?

Before I had a chance to answer Maggie said, "I went out with an electrician once. He was from Athy ."

I wondered had I suddenly stumbled upon the Kildare version of Twin Peaks.

"He had a gap as well. It was between his teeth," she continued, pointing to her front ones lest we misunderstood. "Unfortunately, it wasn't as big as the one between his ears."

"What was his name?" Josie asked.

"Sparky," she replied. Of course it was.

Patsy, guffawing like a hyena with Tourettes, then told a really corny joke about an electrician driving a volts wagon. I can tell you now Michael Noonan was getting more laughs.

Thankfully, Maggie suddenly came back to us, realised what we were talking about and felt obliged to give us her version of what a thigh gap is.

"It's when you are standing with your legs together and your thighs are slim enough to create a gap at the top big enough to pull the hose of a hoover through."

Sounds about right I suppose.

"Mine do that," Patsy announced from Lala land.

Can I just say at this point that when Patsy's thighs come together is like the movement of the earth's tectonic plates. The tremors can be felt as far away as Enfield.

Actually,the last time she, or any of us, saw a gap between our thighs was around 1978 when Saturday Night Fever was all the rage and, in an attempt to dance like John Travolta, we enrolled in the Morosini Whelan School of Dancing in Dublin. Back then our attempts at the splits would have given the Folies Bergere a run for their money. Now, if we attempted the same thing, we'd look like a couple of bull walruses chasing a penguin.

"In fairness Patsy, you could also crack walnuts between your thighs," Josie said.

Taking this as a compliment, Patsy gave her a high five.

Well, if the gap fits...