Decide that I may not be able to control the placement of toilets in classrooms, but by golly I was going to wear proper shoes for my first week of tutoring regardless of what my stupid toe and its stupid over-a-year-long-saga had to say about it.
Find boots that are soft enough, and in a size big enough, to not squish my stupid toe. Ecstatically buy boots. (My first boots ever, actually).
First Round Goes To: Me.
Monday Night: Stupid toe rebels against my struggle for supremacy by taking giant leap away from healing. My mother and father, like saints, calm me down over the phone.
Second Round Goes To: Stupid toe.
Tuesday Day: After a discussion with Mum, I wear my new boots to a university training program as a confidence-booster. I really, really, really hate my Birkenstocks. Enjoy the program and meeting new people.
Third Round Goes To: Me.
Tuesday Afternoon: Toe really, really rebels against my struggle for supremacy by remaining far away from healing. I make yet another appointment at my doctor’s surgery for later in the week.
Fourth Round Goes To: Stupid toe.
Wednesday: Realise I can’t wear the boots to my first tutorial. Sigh a little, then get over it. Spend part of the morning with my mother, who treats me to a cookie and a caffeinated soft drink the likes of which I haven’t touched since I was 18. Go into uni and, for the first time, walk into my office, which even has my name on it. Suddenly realise I’m a trusted part of this place now, and that my footwear doesn’t change that fact one iota.
Decide to own my crazy footwear with pride, and so introduce myself to my first tutorial by introducing the concept of Impression Management to the students in relation to my own need to explain the socks and sandals.
Fifth Round Goes To: Me. Stupid Toe, you may take my pretty heels away from me, but you’ll never take my dignity.