I have a filling. My life is OVER.
I have always prided myself on my excellent teeth. When we were kids Mum used to have us chew on fluoride tablets after dinner since our house ran off rainwater so we didn't get any fluoride through our water supply. I'm sure it had nothing to do with the correlation between fluoride and obedience.
Anyway, I have always had good strong teeth with nary a filling among them, and have taken a lot of joy out of that fact, especially since poor Blair is suffering through what seems like an endless series of root canals and extractions. I like to clack my teeth together in front of him and tap on them with my nails to demonstrate their robust nature. MY tooth has never snapped in half while biting into a pork chop.
Anyway so yesterday I skipped off to the dentist for the usual praise on the very fine condition of my teeth (Thanks! I grew them myself!) but instead things went rather differently.
I could feel the dentist poking around with his little pick, and on one tooth it was sort of sticking in the middle. That had never happened before. I felt dread. I thought of all those delicious morsels of post-dinner chocolate and cursed them to hell.
In the end, it was a surprisingly painless experience. When I was younger I had A LOT of teeth taken out because of my small mouth and because my parents liked me to suffer. I would have had enough for a pretty sweet bracelet. I remember the needle for the anaesthetic being the approximately dimensions of a knitting needle and feeling like it went in so far that it was about to come out the other side of my cheek.
This time it was barely a pinprick and I didn't even cry. That's a win in my book. Plus there was a TV on the ceiling and I got to wear some VERY cool eighties sunglasses that they never used to give you when I was a kid.
But all the sunglasses and ceiling TVs in the world cannot comfort the heartbreak of never being able to clack my teeth at Blair again.