Earlier this week I had one of THOSE days. One of those days where everything that can go wrong does, one after the other. I would start at the beginning, but it’s more fun to start at the middle.

This is what cars flying past you at 100 kilometres an hour looks like:

And I know this because on the way home from work my car did that flashy petrol light thing. I thought I had enough time to get off the motorway and get to a petrol station. But I didn’t. And my car died on the motorway.

I probably would have noticed the little flashing light before, had I not been a bit well, GUTTED about work. I’m working on this project, see. A project that I’ve been developing for the last 3 or 4 months or so. Which has a deadline of the next week. Well it went from something I was proud of to the most horrid, most painful project ever. Because it needed to be re-written. In four days.

So anyway, I’m on the side of the motorway, not yet panicking (I had an indoor netball game an hour or so away). I call the AA and they said they’d send someone when they could. Alas, when they could turned out to be 45 minutes later. Cue the panic.

When he finally showed up, I was so excited I got out of my car and did a little dance! He laughed at me, my bald and heavily moustached AA Man. And he was nice too! He put petrol in my car, and told me two things: one, never tell the police that your car is over heated or that your out of petrol when your broken on the motorway (because they will charge $150 a ticket). And two: Instead tell them that it ‘cut out’ and the AA people are on their way to magically fix it (because they won’t charge you a $150 ticket).

So now I had petrol in my car I zipped off home, grabbed my gear and made it safely to the courts. Unfortunately, I had made it without my netball shoes, or even socks. So I played in what I was wearing: knee high fishnet stockings and black ballet slippers. It looks perfectly respectable with jeans, but not so much with the bright orange basketball shorts I’d grabbed.

Sigh.

During the game it was worse. Somehow sensing that my feet were incredibly vulnerable I got stood on. Not once, but many times. By almost every opposition that got within 3 feet. Strangely, they only liked my left foot. And this poor, poor foot is now black and blue with crazy bruising and cuts and scrapes and is most definitely swollen much larger than it usually would have been.

At full time, I limped off the court feeling very sorry for myself indeed. It was just one of THOSE days where everything that could go wrong, did.

While I’m very, very glad that day came to an end, there aren’t many instances in the world that provide you the opportunity to dance on the motorway. Bet you can’t say that you have. :P