Patience

 That was the name of the lively and charming nurse who administered our drive-thru COVID tests this morning.  (B has had a nagging and persistent cough for weeks and I got sick of it, so booked a test for both of us; he has to have a negative result before a respirologist will see him.) 

When I booked it on-line, the process was sooooooo complicated and convoluted I despaired of what we would face when we drove up.  But, lo and behold, it was flawless!  We were in and out within 10 minutes.  The odd time, a bureaucracy will actually come through.  Now we just have to wait.

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On another topic, a friend's daughter has decided to allow her 10-year-old daughter to dye her hair pink.  She has also allowed this kid to wear Doc Martins.  Really?!  This is what happens when you force-fit a toddler into Mary-Janes, bows and gingham.  They rebel, but not in a nice way.  

When my daughter was young, I didn't interfere in her choice of clothes because something told me that would lead to bizarre choices later on.  Sometimes, this kid went to school wearing one of B's T-shirts as a dress, with one of his ties as a belt.  I remember one parent-teacher meeting, during which I explained my philosophy saying, "I let her choose her clothes and dress herself because I don't want her to decide an orange Mohawk, visible tatoos and pins in her eyebrows and lips would be great ideas later on."

So, no surprise this 10-year-old is striking back.  Let's just hope it's a phase.  Otherwise, she'll be unemployable.