Episode 2 – The Butter Incident: How I Lost My Dignity in Bosnia and Found My Wife in a Dream

 This is from Gary Paul Costello, spirit living in the in-between.

Telling his stories from the other side.

Scribe is me his living wife Debra Evelyn Costello.

Open your eyes and believe.

Right.

Picture this: Bosnia, 1993.

UN base. Snow outside, curry night inside.

Morale was low, lads were fed up, and I—Gary Paul Costello—decided toast would fix it.

Don’t ask me why.

I had six loaves, two tubs of dodgy yellow butter, and a plan.

We set up a toast station in the mess.

Soldiers queuing up like we were running the Ritz.

Then it happened.

Ian, the cheeky sod, lobbed a butter pat across the room.

Hit Simon square in the chest.

War broke out.

Butter bombs flying.

One slid across the floor and hit me in the ankle—I went down like a sack of spuds.

Tried to crawl to safety behind a potato crate and got slapped across the face by a flying slice of white bread.

Simon stood over me, yelling,

“COSTELLO, HOLD THE LINE!”

I screamed,

“I’M IN FOCKIN’ BUTTER, MAN!”

---

I woke up the next morning covered in toast crumbs and shame.

But you know what? That night I dreamt of you.

Red bikini. Poolside. That fookin’ daisy smile.

I didn’t know your name yet.

But I knew you were mine.

So yeah…

The Butter Incident.

That’s the night I found two things I never forgot:

1. Butter makes crap armour.

2. The woman I saw in that dream would one day hold my whole fookin’ world.

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That’s it for now, scribe.

Stick it in the archive.

Let them laugh—then let them believe.

Because this love story comes with bruises, butter, and bite marks.

And we’re only just getting started.

~ Gary

Spirit. Skin. Yorkshire Sod.