Monthly Archives: May 2004

First thing this morning I was sitting in the waiting room of my dental surgery, nonchalantly swinging my sunglasses around by the chord which pulls snug to keep them in their pouch. I was trying to see if I could ease my nervousness and apprehension by trying to appear as cool and collected as possible to the ladies on the phones in reception. I realised I was just being distracting and placed my sunglasses on my lap instead of pointlessly orbiting them around my finger.

Glancing at the neat piles of magazines on the low circular table in the center of the room, I made note that they hadn’t changed from the previous time I had been there – over a month ago. It reminded me of an account by my old mate Doddo, regarding one of his infrequent trips to the dentist; “Is it just me or does every doctors/dentists waiting area have magazines from the pre lunar landing period?” (Go and read Doddo’s tale before finishing this, if you like – he’s a far funnier writer than me – I can wait around here until you get back…)

As I thought of that story, and of other amusing anecdotes from Doddo, I completely forgot where I was – which helped ease the nerves until Miss Miserable Hygienist called my name from the stairway. Damn, it wasn’t the nice blonde girl who always smiles in a friendly way, despite knowing you’re usually there for the most unpleasant experience you’re going to have that day. Miss Miserable Hygienist just makes things worse – I’m not sure why, she’s just like a good vibe vacuum, making sure you’re under no illusions that this is going to be a fun and friendly experience.

My dentist is an indian lady (Edit : hence the misguided title of this entry – I couldn’t think of a place in india that provided the necessary alliteration), with a nice neutral accent and a very comforting tone. She always seems pleased to see me, which is a bit of a shame as I’m usually dreading seeing her – mostly due to an awful experience with a terrible dentist I had in the mid–ninties, whose failed attempts at fillings were being replaced on this day. Once on the chair I flinched as she was giving me the injection, and she asked if I was okay. “Well… yeah, sort of – it’s just not my favourite thing.” I explained, immediately feeling stupid for saying anything other than “Yes, fine thanks.” in a strong manly tone that would suggest I could take the next half hour of treatment without the need for any pain killing injection.

I woke dazed and confused on Saturday morning due to Fliss disappearing downstairs at an unusually early time. Normally I try to surface before her during the weekend so that I can play a game or two on the big tv in the lounge. It turned out that she had woken up early and since it was such a nice day she decided to stay up, albeit in her pj’s.

I joined her on the couch in a very sleepy state, lying on her lap while the Saturday morning TV presenters wittered on in the background. By the time I was starting to wake up, Fliss had made us both a seriously hot cup of tea – I placed mine on the floor while she sat there holding her cup in her right hand, balanced on her leg. The scene is set: I’m not totally awake, she is holding a very hot cup of tea.

In a moment of mischief, I wondered if I could bite her, just a little nibble you understand, and make good my escape before her left hand could make a swift connection with my face. Weighing up the odds I decided this was indeed possible.

However, the quick nibble caused a totally unforseen scenario to unfold before me. The very instant I bit, Fliss flinched and the hot cup of tea was introduced to her thigh and groin area quicker than her nervous system could register the temperature of it. For about half a second, that was, before she leapt from the couch, planted her cup on the floor and began prancing in the direction of the door with her pj bottoms held out in front of her by the waist band. Judging by the thump–thump–thump on the stairs, she was heading for the top bathroom at many speed of antelope.

She may have said the word “idiot!” along the way, but this was of too high a pitch for me to pick up clearly – my apologies to nearby dogs and other wildlife who were needlessly startled. To my regret, I couldn’t help but laugh. Not a deep bellied laughing policeman kind of laugh, but a nervous, stifled “you shouldn’t be laughing at this because you are soooo dead when she comes back” kind of laugh.