When a good toe goes bad… and everybody wins.

I feel I may have come across a little morose in my last post but thanks for listening. It is appreciated always.

And now for something completely different…

Me, the hot GP and the gross toe nail.

A story of woe or rather woe is me.

Let’s start at the very beginning, a very good place to well you know.

My toe nail started going dodgy a while ago. I knew that I needed to do something about it. I also knew it would be weeks before I could organise myself well enough to go to the doctors.

So I waited until it was turning green. Well not really but I like to challenge the medical professionals and hopefully develop some sort of rare disease that will gain their respect.

I actually have a pretty good track record at achieving this.

Back to me… And the delectable GP.

So I’m running late for the appointment because my 5 year old wants Sushi for lunch. I’m flustered and wearing my red sparkly shoes and then he asks me to lie down on the bed (obviously flirting with me) and removes my shoe (like the Prince in Cinderella).

I apologise to him for the state of my toe. He tells me it’s nothing. I say I hope I’m not ruining your day with my ugly toe. He says if that’s the worst thing he sees today he’ll be happy.

And then he has to scrape some toe nail into a urine jar thing for the laboratory. He actually said laboratory about 3 times. He doesn’t abbreviate.

Oh Doctor Dane! You make me swoon with your gentle scraping. Your “is there anything else I can do for you”. Why yes. Yes there is. I also need a referral for a specialist but the Apple Maps thing drained my battery and now I don’t know the specialists name.

He doesn’t look at me like I’m a waste of space. He laughs with me about Apple Maps. He says I can “ring it in” later. He writes me a blood test form thing and laughs as I babble.

He is quite sweet. He is very lovely. And he has scraped my ugly toe.

I tell this story to a friend and we both try to come up with the perfect ailment to cultivate so that I can see him again without my gross toe.

We agree that the old “there’s something in my eye trick might work”.

My husband thinks I’m a bit nuts… I might need to see someone about that 😉

The sad is driving me mad…

Sometimes when I feel sad I wonder if I really do feel sad or if I just think that I feel sad.

That made no sense so stick with me here…

I’ve been crying a lot. Maybe it’s a chick thing. Maybe it’s an over thinking thing. Maybe I’m not happy.

But I think I also feel guilty for thinking that I’m not happy and maybe that’s not the same as being sad.

Right so it’s probably time to just shut down my brain for a bit. To cruise on auto pilot. To look for the good.

But I can’t at the moment.

Don’t know what it is. Maybe I’m a little bit threatened by the Year of the Snake. No. Not really. Of course not. I’m not that dumb.

So I’m kind of struggling to be my usual effervescent self. I can’t even find the motivation to fake it.

I saw a beautiful new born baby today and listened to his delightful gurgles and all I wanted to do was crawl back into bed and barricade the door.

Or barricade the door and then crawl into bed as that would make more sense.

(I have read a few people writing similar things at the moment. Maybe it’s just the post holiday blues.)

So anyway… I just needed to get that off my chest so that I don’t have the hour of power sobbing again tonight. (2am you are not my friend).

Sometimes you don’t know who to tell. Who really cares. We’re all busy. I’m busy. But now I need to sleep.

I’m not joining the circus…

So at what age are you no longer allowed to entertain the notion of running away and joining the circus?

Is it when you would no longer look good in Lycra or when you’d be too heavy to catch on the trapeze?

Or is it when you know that the traveling circus rules out any chance for quality coffee on a daily basis?

Is it baulking at the idea of sharing a caravan and toilet with the bearded lady all the while feeling more and more paranoid that you may one day be the bearded lady?

Is it the thought of all that popcorn that makes your teeth and bank balance hurt after spending $2000 on a crown for your tooth the last time you had popcorn?

Or is it something far more serious and responsible?

Is it realising that because you have a family, a mortgage and responsibilities that you can no longer run away and join the circus? That it can take a whole lot of planning just to have a quiet afternoon on your own.

And here ladies and gentlemen (said in my best Ringmaster’s voice) is the reality that we all face now. We can’t run away and join the circus. We are who we are. We do what we do. We stay where we are.

And instead we treasure our families, our quiet time and stay on the lookout for chin hairs.

Me and Miss Jones…

Oh goodness me! Day 1 of the New Year is upon us and I have ended up on the couch, watching Bridget Jones’s Diary and I just so happen to be wearing a much larger pair of underpants than Miss Jones.

I’m horrified. I’m distraught. And I have a massive wedgie.

This is me in all my glory. This is who I am. I am this person.

I don’t know why I bought such a large pair of underpants. (Well obviously they were on sale.)

I think they’re meant to keep your tummy looking nicer under a dress but really I just walk around feeling like everyone can see my wedgie through my dress and thus again ruining any chance of ever having the upper hand in the public strutting self esteem championships.

I am dismayed. My son saw me in them and said that they look like bathers but bigger. Not. Helping. Darling.

But in keeping with me and who I am and what I do I will not throw out the offending pair of knickers but rather put them away with my other delicates until in about 5 weeks I wear a dress that requires some sucking in and I’ll forget about today, about Bridget Jones and about my instant feeling of distress as soon as I walk out the door in the large purple panties and pull them on again.

There is a metaphor here. This is a parable. There is a lesson for all. Can’t for the life of me think of what it might be.

I think it might be that we don’t change. That we hold onto things that we don’t need and that don’t suit us. That we go with what we know… no matter how uncomfortable or unflattering it may be.

And that now that I am the same age as Bridget Jones I finally understand the need for such a pair of underwear.