I’ve never made a secret out of how much I hate going to the dentist. I’m scared shitless of the dentist. Their white coats and their buzzy instruments and their reclining chair and the lights and the glasses and the bib and the air blower. I hate it. Every second I am there, my tummy churns in terror and anxiety and my heart beats at double time.
I have escaped once or twice from the dentist, running to the lift of the stairs in a bid for freedom.
I have kicked the dentist, and I have bitten the dentist.
Today I tried a new method of attack: I bit his glove while he was popping in an xray thing so he was, in effect, trapped in the line of fire of harmful radiation rays. MWAHAHAHA!!
Then I let go and he made a hasty retreat.
When I go to the dentist, I generally need a chaperone. Their role is to keep me calm and to stop me escaping. They also need to listen to what the dentist says, because I totally tune out.
Today, however, I used my chaperone for a different purpose.
The flatmate came with me, which was a huge effort given the appointment was at 8am and she is currently on crutches following a knee reconstruction. We were sitting in the dentist’s room when he asked what had happened to the flatmate. Quick as a wink, I replied on her behalf: “That happened when she tried to look inside my mouth”.
I’m sure he assumed I was joking but little did he know that if he failed to give me a clean bill of dental health, I was more than happy to cause cavities all over his polished floor.
Anyway anyway, the upshot is that I have twelve months before my next dental visit. This is fantastic, especially given that when I was in Sydney recently, my sister and I found these:
Who the fuck loses their dentures in the middle of a car park?
i had a delightful time convincing my beloved that I had not only tried on the dentures, but that I had also brought them home, named them Tanya and written a theme song about Tanya the Denture and her many adventures.
I like to think I use my powers for good.