Oh the shame! Last year I questioned people that pop to the shop in their pyjamas, I chastised my daughter for walking home from her friends in her pyjamas, I ridiculed (ok that maybe a touch dramatic, but you get the picture) those who drive in pyjamas and slippers. I often joked what if you had an accident and had to get out the car, I sat smiling in my ivory tower.
Yet since writing that post I have let my own standards drop, I still haven’t left the house in my onesie but I have been known, on occasion to drive in my slippers when I am just picking up Chloe. This season Gloucester Hockey training is late, she doesn’t finish until 10pm which is the time that you can expect to find me wearing my PJ’s with a glass of wine in hand.
Last night at 9.45 I pulled on my parka as I had decided that is was starting to get cold, I grabbed the keys and drove the short distance to the training ground. I pulled into my usual space where I can see the end of training, then I noticed that Chloe was jumping around on the sideline. I could see one of her coaches checking bags as the realisation dawned on me that she was injured, again.
I got out of the car to walk to her, acutely aware that my slippers were still on my feet. My slippers are rather great, they are fitflop slippers, sturdy, warm and well made. But still they are slippers, also known as house shoes and I was out of the house. As if that wasn’t bad enough I quickly realised we needed to go to A&E. I bundled her into the car clasping a bag of ice to the rather blue and throbbing finger.
As we arrived I realised not only did I have slippers on I had no money for the car park. I had visions of being stuck in a barrier controlled carpark until dawn.
As we took a seat I cringed at what others would think of my footwear. My teen (through her tears) smirked at my discomfort. She teased me about the fact that I was wearing loungewear in public.
The hospital quickly did their thing, mercifully for us it was quiet in A&E and we were in and out within the hour. As expected the finger is broken and she was told she needs 6-8 weeks rest. It was my turn to smirk as I know that is not going to happen. She breaks, she cries and then she grabs her hockey stick once more.
I would like to thank Glos Hopsital for patching up my sports mad daughter once more and I am sorry for dragging the standards down in A&E last night.