There was no clinic appointment. There was, however, plenty of us. Splooooooooosh.
We arrived, laden with bags, missing naps (yes, nap-plural, because the Eldest has been yawning and irritable in the afternoons lately and has actually napped happily!!!??), after a fast lunch during which I cajoled, then roared, then was abashed by the teamwork which my sons are, apparently, able to produce. Nope. Not June 24th, said the nice, prettily made-up lady behind the counter. July.
I checked July 24th. It's a Friday, specifically, the Friday when we drive to NYC to engage in medical experimentation on the Eldest. (you'd think we'd have done so to produce him, but nope. Genuine tweak o' nature, our lad. Given that, we play! ----strung out maternal snark cut off here by editor.) So, no, I would not have agreed to an appointment on that Friday. And I remember looking in my book before I agreed to the time. So, what the?
Ya got me.
As the napless, harried, emotionally fragile afternoon proved, some days there's just mud in yer eye. And the good news is, whatever happened, it's unlikely to happen again soon: our allergist in Boston hasn't a free appointment in June, July, and oh, no, August doesn't look good, and let's see about September, shall we? said the nice lady. She caught my eye, and stopped. Of course, she said, I could just call him and ask him what he can do.
I raised an eyebrow out of dangerous levels, and found a smile for her. Somewhere. That would be just fine, I said. And, splattered but still slightly dignified, we left.