Denis Lehane: The return of the heartbreaker
I explained to the lady that I was a bit like the weather-beaten banana I held proudly in my hand.
"Oh me or my, you make me sigh, you're such a good-looking man," Joe Dolan could well have sung back in the day - had he known me.
There is no point in denying it any longer. I am a frightfully good-looking man (as you have probably guessed from admiring my picture week after week).
I could, if push came to shove, be the best-looking farmer, not only in this townland, but perhaps in the parish and, indeed, the world.
Why I was never snapped up as a model by the great fashion houses of Armani or Calvin Klein is a mystery only the very bright could answer. I would have sold a million underpants once the catalogues were released. Anyhow, the world never saw me in my underpants, and it's the world's loss.
As I look at myself now in a faded bathroom mirror I have to admit that my hair might be getting a little scarce on top (the picture was taken some time back).
Alas, time has done to my head what the wild westerly wind does to a badly made thatch. And what hair remains, after the onslaught, is now a distinguished grey.
And bizarrely enough, while the hair on my head refuses to grow, my eyebrows are lengthening faster than weeds around the back door of an abandoned farmhouse. Tis a strange sight in many ways.
But be that as it may. My god, I'm still a sight to behold. Especially from a distance and when a bit of fog is lingering in the valley. Being a farmer who turned 50 some time back, naturally, I now have a tummy that reflects a man of more mature years.
A man who enjoys the delights of fatty bacon, buttery spuds and the odd pint. Sure, we all have our guilty pleasures. Naturally, being of the land, my complexion reflects the years I have spent in turmoil. Years out in the wilds chasing after half-mad sheep, wild pigs and half-squeezed bulls.Â
I have the colour of a man who has seen it all and the teeth of a man who hasn't visited a dentist in decades. Teeth are overrated if you ask me. Sure when do you really need them?
Anyhow, all these reflections aside, the fact still remains, with regards to looks, I'm up there with the best of them. With Sinatra and Dean Martin.
Last week I took off my covid mask in public for the first time in years and the heads haven't stopped turning yet. "Good God," a woman declared to me in surprise down at our local supermarket as I searched for an overripe banana, "but I had never realised you were such a rugged and handsome old devil".
With my striking features now on show again, the female community is once more enraptured with my ravishing good looks. Because of Covid they had forgotten, you see. And she wasn't the first to be halted in her tracks.
Since the removal of the mask, I have been inundated with marriage proposals and tempting offers of elopement. Unfortunately for all concerned, I'm a happily married man and will refuse such advances the way a stubborn ram might refuse an offer of a spin to Macroom mart.
Anyhow, back to the lady in the shop, as I dazzled her with a greenish smile, I went on to explain that in reality, I was a bit like the weather-beaten banana I held proudly in my hand.
"I'm a little bent over, and long in the tooth, but ‘tis the sweeter I get with age."
And with that, I turned in my heels - or in my dirty wellington boots to be more accurate - to pay for my overripe banana, and no doubt continue breaking hearts wherever I roam.
