I had to visit our dentist Dr Gorgeous today, a tall dark Irishman who has made Lady Barton St Mary ensure she gets regular check ups. However, she was rather disappointed when he grew one of those big, bushy, hipster/street drinker beards, but has persevered with her admiration of him. But this isn’t the subject of my post.
I was in the chair for some cosmetic work. I’ve finally reached that time of life when I’m visiting the dentist to have teeth replaced rather than removed. Yes, my American Wordpretzels, I know it’s hard to believe but some of us Brits do care about our teeth.
Dr Gorgeous greeted me in his usual gregarious way, BBC 6Music playing in the background. I know that time has moved on when your dentist is fiddling about in your mouth whilst humming along to Public Enemy’s ‘Don’t Believe The Hype.’
We had a quick chat and I settled in the big chair, being elevated and reclined with an easy movement from Dr Gorgeous from behind me. Efficiently, he placed a wad of cotton wool into my cheek on the bottom right of my jaw. I felt the usual tingling of the anaesthetic as it took affect, but at the same time felt a nagging feeling in the back of my butterfly brain.
Sophie, his petite, pretty dental nurse, suddenly said, “Are you sure that you wanted to do that?”
I looked across at her, dazzled by the large light above me.
“Aaahhh,” said Dr Gorgeous, chuckling.
“What was I thinking? We will be working on lower right at another time. Today it’s upper left. Silly me.”
I looked back into his deep blue eyes and smiling face.
“It’s having young kids,” he explained, ” I don’t get anywhere near enough sleep,” he continued, stuffing more cotton wool wads into the correct area of my mouth away from the unnecessarily numbed right half of my face, before charging his hypodermic needle.
Not the most comforting words to hear from your dentist.