Be still my heart...

Last night, my husband and I flopped down on the couch to watch an episode of our favourite television show, the medical drama, "House".

To say that I love this program would be a wild understatement... Not only is the acting superb (those of you who "know" me know about my unbridled lust... er, um... my PROFESSIONAL ADMIRATION... for the incomparable Hugh Laurie), but the scripts and story lines are witty and brilliantly written, even if they are more than slightly far-fetched most of the time.

Last night's plot was a doozie, let me tell you. In a nutshell: a highly attractive sick woman, who is working as a scientist in a remote polar location, requires Dr. House's diagnostic expertise. The trick is, House has to diagnose and treat her via video-telephone communication.

Near the end of the hour, the woman dramatically loses consciousness, and Dr. House enlists the assistance of the only other person on the other end of the video-phone: the woman's male co-worker. House instructs the young man to perform several tests, in a last-ditch attempt to pin down the exact cause of the woman's symptoms. All of the procedures turn out to be relatively invasive, and (to a non-medical professional) rather revolting. But, to his credit, the young man follows the instructions without flinching. The worst of his tasks involves him having to drill a small hole in the woman's skull, to drain excess fluid, and therefore relieving the pressure on her brain... Amazingly, he is able to do it.

From all of this, Dr House is able to deduce that the young man is head-over-heels-in-love with the patient. And then, of course, the woman regains consciousness, they are able to diagnose and treat her health problem in the blink of an eye, and everyone lives happily-ever-after.

Except House, of course, but then, House's inability to find any personal happiness is the foundation for the entire program.

Once the credits had rolled ("That's Some Bad Hat, Harry!!"), and we had pressed the "mute" button to eliminate the racket of commercials, I turned to my spouse:

Me: (still wide-eyed with admiration) Wow. That was really something. It must take some kind of love to be able to drill through the object of your affection's skull...

Him: (still grossed-out, and not wanting to enter this particular conversation) Yup.

Me: (sweetly) Would YOU be able to save MY life like that???

Him: (rolling his eyes heavenward) Oh.... ABSOLUTELY, sweetie. You KNOW I would.

Me: (smiling broadly, and not believing him for a single second) Oh, so would I... I'd drill a hole in your skull anytime.

Him: (eyeing me evil-ly) Yeah, right. I KNOW you would. Trouble is, you'd probably enjoy it so much, you wouldn't stop till you'd drilled right through to the OTHER SIDE.

True.

But then, I've always had a "thing" for power tools.

Love you, Sweetie.

I have the feeling I won't be getting that electric jig-saw I asked for, for Valentine's Day...