I forgot my dancing shoes...

I took the wrong shoes to the podiatrist this morning. I wore my practical-get-things-done-no-nonsense shoes. I should have packed my sparkly-see-the-bright-side-of-things-dancing shoes. Maybe some ballet shoes that could be beautifully criss-crossed and laced up in a pretty pink bow and then used to calmly breath through some elegant stretches.

I was less than 5 minutes late for my 2 minute appointment and as I approached the door, hand on the handle, I saw the podiatrist enter his room with a young family. Great, I thought, he is running a few minutes late so I need not be angry at the trucks and red lights that cost me those 5 minutes in the car. 20 minutes went by and I asked how late he was running as I had enlisted the help of MIL to babysit and had promised not to be long. The reply, 'you weren't here'. He had taken in the next person who was a new patient who I knew from my previous appointment was about 45mins.

The skyline turned very dark and the rain came. The pressure from the rain broke the dam wall. If I was Rachel from Friends I would have started flapping my hands in front of my face to stop the tears. I am not Rachel so I gave in. Months of not enough sleep and physical exhaustion meant reserves for coping were at a low.

If I could go back in time I would (be on time) relax and enjoy the few minutes of quiet that had unexpectedly been given to me. I could have closed my eyes and pirouetted, lept, glided to a whimsical orchestral piece and left rejuvenated.

You live, you learn.

Next time, ballet shoes.