I’d rather watch camogie. (Imagine.) I asked My Conor if it came down to it, would he chose me over his male friends. He said yes, and what about you? I said I’d chose your male friends, particularly since Jim started doing all the Crossfit. (The shoulders on him.)
You might have to turn to DIY, if you get my drift. I asked my relationship therapist neighbour to have a look at your dilemma. She said: “I think his ‘old doll’ is trying to send him a message.” I said ‘go on’. She said: “It’s clear the woman is a free spirit who doesn’t want to be tied down. I said ‘unless it’s by Sergeant Sandra with a set of furry handcuffs’. She said, ‘good point’, I didn’t think of it that way.
The next flight out of Cork, if I saw you waiting for me. I’m afraid I’m persona non grata at the airport after an incident involving two bottles of gin and a body-scanner. (Don’t ask.) So I passed on your issue to my Posh Cousin. She said most southsiders in the know fly into Kerry Airport at Christmas time. I said that must be an awful drive home. She said not really, as long as you’re good at breathing through your mouth. (Until you’re well past Ballincollig.)
Old people are a nightmare, aren’t they? I’ll never forget when I brought my current husband to meet my grandmother. I said this is my new beau, Gran. She said I never knew you were gay. (My Conor had just changed barber.)
I was going to say that’s obvious, but in fairness, you’re Italian. If you were spending Christmas in Douglas or Ballinlough, I would say go for it. But most houses in Bishopstown are smaller than a Centre of Culture in Clonmel. Your chances of a half-naked bedroom swap are next to nil. (I should know.)