Yesterday was spent in one of my absolutely favourite positions. On my back, with my mouth wide open, while a relative stranger shoved weapons of torture and suction pipes in, hoping to remedy a small tooth problem. Yes, I was at the dentist. Deep joy...
Over the years, I have had numerous times where I could gladly have thumped my dentist. Someone once told me that carrying a small revolver was insurance against them hurting me. I haven't tried this as yet, but the last time I was in, my dentist said 'This little prick won't hurt'. 'Yes you will', I replied. 'You always do'.
Here's the thing though. It only takes one bad experience to cement the opinion that all dentists are sadomasochists, who probably take all their drills home at night to practise on whoever chances to pass by. I just picture Steve Martin in full Little Shop of Horrors mode, rocking the nitrous-oxide. No wonder I am a 'Nervous Patient' (this is what it says on my notes).
Over the years, I have had more injections that I could count, temporary crowns which have fallen out (one was swallowed when coming down a water slide, never to be seen again..from either end). These leave gaping holes, making me look like old man Steptoe, and the ones that stayed in my mouth could have lit up a whole street they were so bright. I always had to avoid the discos with the ultra-violet night when I had these in as it tended to scare the boys off somewhat.
So it was with a nervous, buttock-clenching walk that took me back to my new dentist yesterday. I saw him a couple of weeks ago about a filling which had fallen out. He sat there studying my x-rays, frowning. 'Do you know that you only have one un-crowned tooth in your mouth?' he asked.
Trying my best not to be sarcastic, I replied, 'Why yes. I was there when they were done...' He almost fell off the chair laughing, and I thought to myself, 'Now here's someone I could come back to...'
So return I did, and I have to admit that it was the most pain free dental trip I have ever had. I'm not sure what drugs he was using, but after I left there, I headed into Waitrose for some shopping. Bumping into my lovely friend Mrs N, I explained to her why I was talking like Marlon Brando out of the Godfather, and that for the life of me, I couldn't remember why I was there.
This might explain why dinner last night was a concoction of Thai fish, salad potatoes, coleslaw and a chip butty (this was for my harnessed Northerner of a husband). Son number two and the BFF, still scavenging for food, took one look and headed down to the chippy for 'real food'.
The husband, too afraid to question my dilated pupils, ate in silence....