Is there an entomologist in the house?
Entomologist? Nope, but there is a guy here at home who hates dentists.
Early in November I innocently wandered into the
- surgery? - in search of nothing more threatening than a check-up. We ended up making an appointment for the next week during which I was to have three small fillings done.
Strangely, it all turned into a regular, weekly thing with a total of six appointments during which new ‘problems’ were discovered and new drillings made. Oil? Anyway, it’s all over now, as those Stones used to sing. Well, sort of: I went in this morning at 10.30 and it’s now 13.00; my mouth, top lip and whiskers are still numb and I obviously have to nurse my hunger for a few more hours because, otherwise, I’d burn my mouth to bits. But I have learned wisdom (no pun or toothy reference intended), and now realise why dentists can wear M9s where I shall ever be destined for the bandana without hope of crossing over into M9 fashion.
Before leaving the sunny plaça and entering the chamber of horrors I snapped this other poor stone creature; a subconscious portent of things to come, no doubt.
On the bright side, I suppose that within a day or two I shall only remember the moments when I was choking with my own saliva threatening my lungs, but nonetheless felt myself distracted somewhat by the warm tit pressing into my right ear.
We have a
appointment for early next December. I can hardly wait. Right.