Don’t get me wrong. I love overdelivering on the charm, support, gazing and beats of my heart. I thought you knew this about me. My feet are small. I can barely walk with regular shoes on. Walking, or trying my best to walk, for extended amounts of time in clown shoes feels like a death wish. You don’t have time to stay with me stopping and regaining the strength to walk again between every step. I understand that. It’s better you go and find me after you get tired of swinging on the park rope swing. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. I’ll get there one of these days.