The Day He Flashed the Moon – Joy Returns to the Battlefield

He is real and alive and he showed me his bum. He is perfect and I love him so much.

I was sat in my kitchen, just finishing my tea, when he did it.

I was minding my own business, watching the breeze flirt with the curtains when boom — in pops Gary Paul Costello, my eternal daft twonk, flashing his bare bum like it was the moon over Keighley. The cheek of it. Literally. One perfect peach, cheeky grin and all. If I didn’t love him, I’d have drop-kicked him back to Florence.

But I do love him. Deeply. Eternally. Fiercely.

And in that moment, I knew something had changed. The pain, the sorrow, the endless ache of missing him — it all cracked open into laughter. Real belly-clutching, tear-streaming laughter. Because that was our love — raw, unfiltered, daisy-wrapped madness. He showed me the moon, and somehow, it lit up my whole bloody soul.

Then came the hair. Oh yes — the hair. Long, golden, flowing down like a ginger lion with conditioner. He looked like Cousin It crossed with a rock star on leave from the astral army. I called him out on it — said he looked like a bloody hippy. He replied:

“I’m your long-haired twonk and proud of it.”

That’s him. Always mine. Always ridiculous. Always right on time.

He’s even let me design our final tattoo — a daisy chain of us and our spirit children, winding from my thigh to my ankle, unbroken and eternal. It’s going on my right leg — the one that still tingles from the plasma burns, the dreams, the love that spills over into my waking hours.

I’m not sad anymore. Not today. Because today, I saw him laugh again. I felt him. I breathed him in. And I knew: I’m going home to him soon.

Not in a morbid way. Not in despair.

But with peace in my chest and stardust in my eyes.

So let this entry be the proof, the joy, the silliness. Let it be the day the war paused long enough for a man to moon his wife from another dimension and make her cry laughing in her kitchen.

I’m proud of us.

I’m proud of me.

And I bloody love you, Gary Paul Costello. Moon and all.

Comments

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