We waited with bated breath to hear about Patsy's disastrous date with Maggie's brother-in-law and the tearful autopsy that would follow.
Instead, she bounced into the coffee shop all heaving bosoms and eyes glittering like a teenager in the first flush of love -- ripe for a slagging.
"I take it the date went well?" asked Josie, as Patsy fanned herself with the menu like a senorita with a menopausal hot flush.
Then, batting her eyelids as if she had Tourette's syndrome, she went on to loudly extol her date's lovely eyes/manners/trousers/wine collection for what seemed like an eternity.
"I know it was just a first date," she added. "But, we really clicked. I mean, we like the same books, the same movies and he's really into hill walking."
There was a stunned silence around the table.
"Hill walking! You are so lazy you can barely walk without stabilisers and the only books you ever read were those Harold Robbins' bonkbusters in the '70s," said Maggie.
"Mike (just in case all the Mikes, who had a first date, last week, start booking flights out of here -- Mike is not his real name) suggested that I might like to read Madame Bovary.
"It's about a woman who wants to escape the ordinariness of provincial life -- a bit like us living in Kildare -- and has loads of affairs, and if that doesn't sound like a bonkbuster then I don't know what does."
She had a point.
"And as for the hill walking -- Mike suggested (maybe it was the after-effects of the chemotherapy but she had said, "Mike suggested" only twice and it was already starting to get up my nose) that, if I get myself good walking boots, my feet will feel as if they are floating on air.
"As soon as I get them, I'm going to invite him down to Kildare and we can go hill walking, just me and him and the fresh air. It will be fantastic," she said, flapping her hands together like an overexcited seal.
"There's just one problem," I said. "There are no hills in Kildare."
"For f**k sake," Patsy muttered under her breath.
"No worries, we've plenty of bog so you could take him bog snorkelling," offered Josie.
"All you need is an extra-large wet suit and one of those stopper things for your gob to help you breathe."
The three of us sniggered like school kids.
"Have ye lot nothing else to be doing but to spend the day slagging me off?" said Patsy with a face like thunder.
Actually, we didn't!