The x-rays are IN

Love Chunks' chest is fine. No fibroids detected, just a 'thickening' due to the bronchitis he suffered from a couple of months ago and some left over scarring. This is a rather nice result to get considering that last week he was asked if he'd been working with asbestos and needed his bladder infection to clear up before the medicos could get another squizz at his two supposedly dodgy airbags.

He got the call from his doctor this morning and we stood there in our kitchen, hugging each other tightly and silently for a long time. Then Milly sauntered in; stomach and tail waggling and flexing on opposite sides to each other and she used her wet nose to nudge us both in the calf muscles, her typical, "I'll have what you're having" move. This always causes us to laugh and bend down to ruffle her ears and give her the attention she's asking for.

We then went back to the bank to sign the paperwork required for sending off a $59,000 cheque to our Flemington home-minders, an increase in our current mortgage and, most frighteningly, a 'bridging loan' that is roughly seven times what we owe right now. Our signatures looked rather wobbly and intelligible when signing our lives away for that last bit. Still, as Love Chunks said a few minutes later as we wandered up and down the greeting card aisle of the newsagent, "It's our first bit of good news in a while."

When I asked who the card was for, he waggled a Lonely Planet picture of two adult elephants standing either side of a baby elephant and said, "For your parents, actually. I want to let them know how much I appreciate how they've provided me with such great support and understanding. Not just because of my Mum's cancer battle but because, really, they are my parents too."

Later, back at home tapping away on his work laptop at the kitchen bench, he called out, "...and I really should add a comment to your blog, thanking everyone for their concern about my health, but access to your blog and other fun stuff is blocked on my work computer...." And this from the bloke who'd only said last week that I'd made him out to be a saint on this 'ere forum, when he was anything but. "Fine," I replied, "I'm more than happy to let them know that you get unreasonably stroppy when you're hungry; you burp at the dinner table in a far louder and more dramatic manner than you need to and you're overly fond of writing 'Angry from Trinity Gardens' letters to editors, local politicians and community groups. How's that for starters?"

He pretended to be mortally wounded, clutching at his (thankfully sturdy and in good nick) heart, chest and lung area.

"Hey," he called out to me from the kitchen again, disturbing my essential and riveting review I was drafting on the latest Taylor Swift CD from my 'office' in the third bedroom. "Hey, have you got any of those Lindt balls left from the 400g box you bought yesterday?"

"Er, yeah. What flavour do you want?"
"Oh any." I went out, blushing, and shyly handed him three dark blue ones.

"Is this all that's left or is this all you're prepared to give me?"

"Er, the former." My face grew redder and I tried not to meet his eye.

Somehow we found ourselves in a tight hug in the same spot in the kitchen as we had earlier, again silently celebrating what we have together. Then Milly came in, dropped a ginormous Chum fart and completely ruined the moment: "Bloody hell! go push the window up while I open the screen door at the front."