I’m not really a fan of dentists, as it usually involves more than one needle, copious amounts of rinsing, and foul-tasting I-don’t-know-what poked and prodded into those cavities that are demanding attention.
This particular visit was the first of three or four visits, and was a 3-hour appointment. Personally, I wasn’t sure how I was going to keep my mouth open for 3 hours, but my husband, bless his sarcastic soul, assured me that I would have no problem keeping my mouth open for the required time, as I had no problem talking with a mouth full of marbles, or under wet cement.
I had been seeing this dentist for a couple of years now, and I liked him because of his jovial nature and his penchant for playing classical music and singing at the top of his lungs during the consultation. Anything to take my mind off the the dreaded injection, as far as I was concerned, was a good thing. He would stop singing every now and again to ask me a question, and every now and again I would answer him, depending on the degree of difficulty getting around whatever he had stuck in my mouth at the time.
I reiterated to him my query about being able to keep my mouth open for a long period of time, and he told me that he had booked me a longer appointment because he knew that I liked to have a ‘bit of a chat’ in between instruments and rinsing. I squinted at him through my eye protectors and asked him if he had been talking to my husband.
The job at hand today was to put veneers on some of my top teeth to lengthen them, as the drugs I had been taking over the years had worn them away somewhat, and they needed strengthening. He finished the first one and stepped back to admire his handywork.
‘Not bad.’ he said, ‘You look just like Nanny McPhee.’
‘Yep.’ he grinned, ‘Take a look.’
I looked into his portable mirror. Sure enough. I had a perfect tooth, at least 2.5 mm longer than all the rest of my front teeth and poking prominently south. I looked like Nanny McPhee alright, all I needed was the wart and the funny hat.
I closed my mouth and glared at him. ‘You are going to make the rest of my front teeth look the same, aren’t you?’
‘I’ll have more of a chance if you stop talking.’
He worked away for another 45 minutes, singing loudly, until he finished my left canine.
I felt it with my tongue. It was really long and very sharp.
‘You look like a dog with that tooth.’ He stepped back, amused.
‘That’s not something you should be saying to a woman before you put your fingers into her mouth.’ I snapped back.
He grinned at me over his dental specs. ‘Yeh, I just thought of that as I said it, but it was too late to take it back. Please don’t bite me.’
I took another look in the mirror. I looked like my 14-year-old Maltese, who only had one canine tooth left. I lowered my head and smirked. ‘I will consider your request.’
My dentist hesitated for a second before he continued. ‘I’ll file that one down a bit before I do the last one.’
I did end up biting him a bit later on. But it was an accident.
He told me that I looked like Elle McPherson after the last tooth was finished, but I didn’t believe him.
I can’t wait for the crown and the bridge next week.