A Little Lemon & Lots of Love

Following Wednesday's stand-down time, I was marched back to work the next day. This mental decision to interrupt the healing process obviously did not go down well with Body, because then she decided to retaliate. Let’s see you try to go to work without a voice. How’ya like that, huh? Wanna call your manager and tell her you can’t make it? Let’s see how productive you’ll be without Sign Language v.101. Go on, hotshot. Let’s see you go to work.

Friday morning Voicebox malfunctioned, just as Body promised. At every one of the incessant coughs, I felt as if the back of my head was smashing against a brick wall. I was a concussing pro-bacterial human-sized germ. I was a pantomime. A silent movie. A wind tunnel.

Defeated once again, I plumped up my pillows and tucked myself back into bed with my laptop. Here’s where my story really starts.

I want to say, that I’m in love again, simply because, I know I am loved.

Some may say that a year and a half isn’t quite long enough whereby you can belch, spit, snort and expel right in front of each other. Heck, they’re absolutely right. Gav and I never began to draw up a courtesy rule, but somehow have always mutually respected each other strongly in this way.

Unfortunately, recent circumstances would have me in an embarrassing state, where my coughing and blowing would bring about expelling unnameable substances which even to me is already undeniably disgusting, let alone for another individual. Oh and the sounds I make whilst I’m at it. Boy do I pull good impersonations of my grandpa on a good day.

In spite of my most grubby form, Gav battled my surrounding landmine, as he calls it, of soggy tissues to care for me all morning. The wonder of this person is that I never asked this of him. Despite having planned some time ago to take this day off, he was in and out of my bedroom with hot lemon juice and water, then it was breakfast in bed, then my laptop was losing power so it was the battery charger, then it was a top-up of water for my lemon juice. Instead of repulsing him, my grandpa impersonations were what brought him back into my bedroom time and again with cuddles, and kisses to the forehead.

I ask, my head hanging in shame, “Hon, am I grubby?”
“Yes, you are.”
He smiles and leaves the room again.

I especially loved his response to my request for a chilled TimTam from the fridge. Here I was, a mute and a throat filled with muck, and I wanted a TimTam!

I whisper: “Can I have a TimTam?”
“No…”
“Please please pleaseee…I need a TimTam…”
“hmm…OK, but just one...”


If I ever felt more beautiful and loved on one of the worst, daggiest, grubbiest, snottiest days, it would be because of him and the way he made me feel.

To the most wonderful boyfriend an icky girl could have…thank you sweety. Still so in love with you...