Revenge Of The Dentist

Has it been a week already? Bugger. Tomorrow sees my return to the dentist – that happy place of drills and pain, and injections which make you look special. I’m having a tooth re-filled because the original filling fell out during an unfortunate encounter with some popcorn. Then again, it had lasted for nearly twenty years so I suppose I can’t ask for my mum’s money back.

This is just the start of the pain. On Thursday I get the jabs I need for my holiday in Grenada, and my wife is still feeling the effects of the ones she had yesterday. Apparently it feels like you’ve been punched in the arm. Nice. So I’m going to have a hurty mouth and hurty arms. All I need to do now is trip on a bit of pavement on Friday and I’ll be aching all over. The inhumanity.

Still, for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction, right? Which, if the theory is sound, means that my holiday should be absolutely bloody marvellous.

It’s something to think about while in the dentist’s waiting room, anyway. Last Tuesday night before my first appointment I barely slept a wink. Following my busy weekend I’m a lot more tired than I was then, so hopefully this time I will be able to nod off. If not, maybe I’ll be so knackered tomorrow that I’ll fall asleep in the chair. One thing’s for sure, though: if there’s any drilling involved, I expect my tax dollars to stump up a fuckload of local anaesthetic beforehand.

A full report on my death will follow tomorrow.

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