She sits on a chair in her bedroom, a nylon stocking neatly rolled up so she just have to put her feet in and swipe it all the way up in one move. Doing this every day, she's reached perfection. No need for adjusting the fit, not a wrinkle or overstretched piece of the fair nylon fabric to be seen anywhere. Today though, is not every day. It's one of those rare days she wishes she isn't the dean of medicine, that she doesn't have to handle House and that she could wear flats to work without anyone wondering why she left those stilettos in the closet. But most of all, she wishes she is less like House and doesn't smile and lets everyone think she is fine when she is not.