5 days to go
It could all be a cinch. I could waltz in, be told that my teeth are in perfect condition, and glide out again with a self-satisfied grin. This would prove my theory that 6 month check-ups are pointless - except for the dentist's bank balance of course. But at this juncture, with the dentist's chair just outside the door, I'm somehow reluctant to voice my theory anymore. It's not that I don't have the courage of my convictions, it's just that well...
Maybe after opening my mouth in terror to the dentist's gaze, he will start tutting, rhyming out "A2 bad, G3 history, Z8 no enamel" and other such gibberish to his assistant. After a while, he'll pull out the heavy duty drill. "I don't get to use this one too often" he says with an evil grin.
There you go, I'm off again. Why is it that when I dare to think I might need some treatment, the dentist starts to morph into a fiendish Nazi. Did the Third Reich have an unusually high proportion of dentists? Well... I suppose with all that torturing and the fillings they gathered, maybe they did.
Sorry, I'm off again amn't I.
9:30:29 PM 
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