We had just gotten off the elevator and were about to go out into the cold when Joe noticed that one of my black slippers had slipped off my foot and was dangling precariously off the footrest. We backed up and found a place, right across from the elevators, where Joe could sit down and then adjust the slipper.
For the longest time, maybe even the first 5 years of my having a disability, this would have been a horribly complicated thing to do. See, I wouldn't let Joe help me with something like that anywhere where it could be seen by others. I'm not sure what I was keeping secret but it was a secret I was keeping. We'd find a bathroom with a large stall, we'd go back to the room, we'd spend a lot of energy on keeping my needs and his support in the closet. I don't know what happened that made, one day, that all seem kind of silly to me. Big deal, Joe helps me with my slipper when it falls off.
There are a few gawkers, of course, but most people go by without any real notice of us at all. On this occasion, Joe got himself seated and then I rolled up to where he could comfortably reach, I lifted my foot, he righted the situation. Then he said, "Let me make sure the other one is on securely too." I dutifully turned my chair and lifted my foot. It was then I noticed a woman, stopped, staring, and slowly shaking her head in disapproval or maybe disgust (or whatever reason that causes people to shake their heads at things like this).
I looked up at her and had one of those moments, I was in a tremendously good mood, and I was looking forward to our stroll out into downtown Charlottetown. I said to her, excitedly, like a breathless princess, "Oh, my gosh, it fits. IT FITS!! I get to go to the ball."
That snapped her out of the stare, she said, "Go ahead, make a joke," and stomped off.
I thought to myself, "For many things in life, that's pretty good advice."