Far to Go
Boxes packed today = 0 (but have v good excuse)
Temperature = 86 degrees F
Number of tumours or cysts I have in my jaw = 0 (that's the good news I suppose)
Number of fillings the numero uno dentist in town says I have to have new or replaced = 12
Amount of money he charged me for this information = $329
***
Major exciting thing today.... Digs came round with a bulldozer and dug up the septic tank.
This is my cast iron (literally) excuse for not doing any packing today. The septic tank is right under the spot where I drag all my boxes out to be packed. Official announcement: all packing - not that there has been much of it going on this week anyway) is therefore suspended until Sunday.
Unearthed after twenty years: one septic tank.
***
I must say, American dentists are expensive and this one in particular is v v expensive, but to use a soccer analogy, they are Chelsea compared to the British NHS's Grimsby Town. All the mags in the waiting room are this week's latest. The furniture is mahogany, there are fresh flowers everywhere and the bedside manner of the dentist himself is breathtaking in its smoothness. Everything (well, I suppose they haven't started on the really bad stuff yet, but even so) is done with novacaine patches, TV cameras, lasers and ultrasonic water jets, to the sound of smooth jazz in the background.
I almost gave myself away at one point. I asked what metal they would use in my fillings. The Smoothdentist looked at me as if I was mad and said he hadn't used metal fillings for ten years. I am not sure if this is the case in the UK or not, seeing it is - horrible and exclusive internet confession here - well over fifteen years since I ran away from my last dentist's surgery.
My last dentist, in the UK, was a friend of my fathers (vaguely) so I have to watch what I say here. However, the long and short of it was that he told my mother that my wisdom teeth were out of whack and that I would need immediate surgery in hospital to dig them out before they grew backwards into my brain. The sixteen year old me decided I would sooner die of wisdom teeth in the brain than go to hospital. So I ran away from the dentist.
In case you are all thinking to yourselves, that explains a lot about the way her brain works: there are eight large teeth where the common sense should be, may I just say that the sixteen year old me was perhaps not so dizzy after all. Left to their own devices, the wisdom teeth grew in two years later, perfectly straight and healthy.
Temperature = 86 degrees F
Number of tumours or cysts I have in my jaw = 0 (that's the good news I suppose)
Number of fillings the numero uno dentist in town says I have to have new or replaced = 12
Amount of money he charged me for this information = $329
***
Major exciting thing today.... Digs came round with a bulldozer and dug up the septic tank.
This is my cast iron (literally) excuse for not doing any packing today. The septic tank is right under the spot where I drag all my boxes out to be packed. Official announcement: all packing - not that there has been much of it going on this week anyway) is therefore suspended until Sunday.
Unearthed after twenty years: one septic tank.
***
I must say, American dentists are expensive and this one in particular is v v expensive, but to use a soccer analogy, they are Chelsea compared to the British NHS's Grimsby Town. All the mags in the waiting room are this week's latest. The furniture is mahogany, there are fresh flowers everywhere and the bedside manner of the dentist himself is breathtaking in its smoothness. Everything (well, I suppose they haven't started on the really bad stuff yet, but even so) is done with novacaine patches, TV cameras, lasers and ultrasonic water jets, to the sound of smooth jazz in the background.
I almost gave myself away at one point. I asked what metal they would use in my fillings. The Smoothdentist looked at me as if I was mad and said he hadn't used metal fillings for ten years. I am not sure if this is the case in the UK or not, seeing it is - horrible and exclusive internet confession here - well over fifteen years since I ran away from my last dentist's surgery.
My last dentist, in the UK, was a friend of my fathers (vaguely) so I have to watch what I say here. However, the long and short of it was that he told my mother that my wisdom teeth were out of whack and that I would need immediate surgery in hospital to dig them out before they grew backwards into my brain. The sixteen year old me decided I would sooner die of wisdom teeth in the brain than go to hospital. So I ran away from the dentist.
In case you are all thinking to yourselves, that explains a lot about the way her brain works: there are eight large teeth where the common sense should be, may I just say that the sixteen year old me was perhaps not so dizzy after all. Left to their own devices, the wisdom teeth grew in two years later, perfectly straight and healthy.
posted by alranson | 2:06 PM
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