When you're in Love with a Beautiful Doctor...

Okay, it's been a long time coming, and I was beginning to wonder if my Prince would ever show his handsome mug, but he's here at last.

It's official: I'm in love.

It started out as a(nother) routine visit to my GP's surgery, because I can't seem to shake off the shingles. Expecting to be seen by old Dr Hemorrhoid, my knees went wobbly at the sight of new Doctor Lurve. Tall, dark and gorgeous, his eyes are like pools of melted chocolate, crinkling at the corners. He has closely cropped dark hair, that I know would just feel like velvet Velcro under my trembling palm. He laughs a throaty chuckle, and speaks with a sexy Irish lilt. Oh, be still, my beating heart...

I explained my sorry tale of (more) blistering pox popping up on my cheek and he gently brushed the shaggy curls away from my face. As his thumb gently swept across my temple, I let out a strangled moan. He moved in closer. I felt his warm breathe on my skin. Oh, God, he was just inches away from my quivering lips.

"Herpes," he announced. "Do you have any more blisters anywhere else?"

"No. Shall I take my shirt off?"

"And how's your health in general?"

"Fine. Shall I climb up onto the examining coach?"

"Are you feeling particularly stressed at the moment?"

"Hell, yes. Shall I just get naked?"

I think I may be ill again tomorrow. And the next day, and the one after that...