Two Thirty

I have to go to the dentists again this morning as I've split another tooth, best get ready. The pre-dentist brush-up is nothing if not thorough, a last minute attempt to undo those past six months of neglect. When I was a kid I'd be in there thirty or forty minutes, scrubbing until I could see my face in them. Today I realise the damage has been done, so I give myself a quick half hour scrub up and, suitably chastened, arrive at the waiting room to find... I've got a new dentist... and she's hot! Put that drill back in the holster lady, polish my teeth until they squeal! That kinda hot! So I put the charm on, full, I swagger round the room, pratfall into the chair, she laughs and blushes, did I mention I was a magician? I chuckle. Now, as pretty as she may be, it would be utterly impossible for me to ask her out of course. There's the whole doctor/patient relationship thing... we work very different hours... And more importantly she's stuffed my mouth full of swabs and is drilling out my rear molar as we speak. Makes it difficult to be smooth: 'Ooo uuont oo go ora gofffee ummime??' Nevertheless, I came out smitten. What a great dentist! I thought, what a great job! It's probably the best job anyone's done in the history of dentistry! And then I got home and saw she'd given me a dirty great metal filling instead of the pure, clean invisible filling of vanity that I just paid seventy-five thin and crispies for. Still, you can hardly blame her; I am awfully distracting.