Thought bubble for the day

I decided something recently - there is no such thing as a waste of time; just a change of plans.

Now, just as every journalist knows that every story has been done before, and every writer is aware that no phrase is entirely original, this little quote has probably been uttered by someone else prior to my writing this blog.

(If you have heard of a similar phrase coined before, keep it to yourself. Let me swan about with visions of my own philosophical grandeur for a little while.)

This thought bubble popped up above my head when I was waiting for the 43rd minute for my doctor to open his clinic door and usher me in.

As doctor rage began to churn inside me, I snapped at my hungry, bored, tired and – up till then – very patient small person (aged 5) when he asked if it was our turn.

Remorseful at my outburst, I began to take stock of my situation. We would no longer have time to nip into the supermarket to buy bread and milk. But, on the other hand, I had just spent the better part of an hour reading book after glorious book to said small person. Who said quality time couldn’t be had in a hard chair surrounded by snot-laden toddlers and heart-diseased adults?

So I smiled an apology for my frayed temper at small person and was genuinely thrilled when he asked me to read Cat in a Hat for the umpteenth time.

But I was given another chance to test my resolve the following day when I was penned between a silver Range Rover and a silver Prado during peak hour.

Just as I became dizzy with road rage and Prado fumes, I remembered my thought bubble.

Okay, so I wasn’t going to get to languish in the warm, cosy nook of my favourite coffee shop hugging a decaf, soy latte (I know, I know, don’t say it) before work, but I suddenly had ample time to exercise those mysterious and elusive pelvic floor muscles.

So, the moral of the story? Accept the change of plan and do your pelvic floor exercises instead.


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