Sweet, sweet smile...

It was back to the dentist again yesterday.  The final fitting for yet another piece of porcelain for my 'row of bombed houses' teeth.  I have so much of the stuff in my mouth now, that I am convinced that this is why I am heavier than I would like to be.  Perhaps falsies are heavier than the real thing? That certainly applies to other things apparently. (I wouldn't have a clue with my 34AA trainer bra, but hey, who needs big boobs when you have a derriere which can do a passable impression of a jelly in a hurricane on a good day).

Anyway back to the dentist.  Prior to changing dentists about five years ago, I had spent the previous thirty years in a permanent merry-go-round of dental treatments.  I was either waiting for treatment, having treatment or just completing treatment.  It was never ending.  

But since leaving my extremely expensive private dentist, this seems to have stopped quite dramatically. I have a theory about this.  My last dentist was a private one, and every time I went in for a check up, I came out with a list as long as your arm of 'work' which needed doing.  When they had done as much as they possibly could charge me for and there were no more teeth to mend, they then started taking them out.  So then I had to pay for bridges.  It was when they took a tooth out for no apparent reason, that I decided to take my teeth (or what was left of them) elsewhere.

And so I now use the NHS surgery in my home town.  I have very little work done now, mainly because the NHS doesn't have that much money to spend on gnashers.  My lovely dentist takes a quick look at a grumbling old tooth, and just tells me to 'whack a bit of Sensodyne on it'.  I like this approach much better.  As does my bank account.

So me and my Liberace smile headed off to Pilates last night.  I've not been for a couple of weeks so it was a bit of a shock to my old bones I can tell you, and there wasn't much chance to show off my gleaming new smile.

Unless you count the grimace which was elicited from a particularly difficult move involving a partially inflated ball, a flexed foot and an inner thigh.

I'll give her 'tiny, gentle moves', it was more like the London Dungeons than Pilates...