Tuesday, 27 September 2016


cliparts images

Yep, teeth. My teeth.

I had thought a lot about the missing tooth near the front of my mouth. It bothered me. It not so much hurt my vanity as robbed my confidence. I guess that answer may be one and the same thing. I am not one of those people who seek to have a set of gnashers as though made by Josiah Wedgewood, That pristine white was not the thing I sought. I wasn't after image just a full set of upper teeth and not a gap you could drive a mustang through.

I made an appointment with my dentist who, having examined my molars and incisors declared my teeth in perfect nick. 'Really?' I puzzled, 'What about the grand canyon divide? Mount Rushmore with Thomas Jefferson missing?' 'Lots of people have gaps,' she said in a conciliatory fashion. I looked aghast. Well, I think I looked aghast, I mean I couldn't see my face but I was trying my best to make my features resemble someone who felt  aghast. 'Er, well, that's very nice of you to point that out but I would like my gap filled.' She looked at me as though I was a patient she would rather not have, one to be dismissed as rapidly as possible. 'Sorry, we do not practise cosmetic surgery.' 

This momentarily stymied me. 'You don't do cosmetic surgery?' She smiled the kind of smile the winner of a poker hand smiles having produced three aces. 'No. Sorry. I could recommend someone if you like?' With little options left I readily accepted her kind offer.

A couple of weeks later and I am entering the flight deck of the Starship Enterprise. The surgery was 'expansive.' That of course, is a euphemism. It was huge. I don't think I am exaggerating but I would guess it was about thirty foot long by twenty foot wide. Somewhere in the mid-distance, a voice called me. I squinted the better to focus on the young Asian dental doctor who was rising to greet me. He flashed a perfect grin at me that was impossibly white. I hermetically sealed my mouth forming my lips into a tight zipper line. We shook hands, exchanged pleasantries before he ushered me to a large space vehicle which resembled something out of 'Alien.'

'Take a seat he firmly commanded. It was obvious from his demeanour he was in charge - at least he thought he was. This confidence undoubtedly came from knowing he earns more than 300,000 quid a year. Nice gig if you can get it. I lounged back in the plush cushioned upholstery having taken my eyes of the wide screen TV, one of those big numbers, affixed to his wall. To my utter amazement, another one was suspended above me. Now this comfort I could get used to, preferably in my home and not some dental practitioner. 

He went through his routine examination in a routinely way - all professional. He made no comments about the state of my teeth but then again it is hard to be complimentary when your calculator brain is working out profit margins. He took an X-Ray of my teeth with a new fan dangled (new to me anyway) mobile device. He pressed a button and, having completed his prodding of my gums and poking of my teeth, he removed his latex gloves before waving his manicured paw in the general direction of a desk. Desk doesn't do the slab of furniture, with its wide screened PC,  jusrtice;  this was obviously the Captain's command post. 

We sat down and negotitated, er, sorry, HE explained the options, three of them, before telling me the cost of having an implant. 

No, really, you don't want to know.

Seriously, you don't. If my dear old dad was alive he'd tell me to come to my senses. And by golly dad earned a jolly good wage.

OK, OK, I guess it would be unfair of me to witter on about this whole process, sort of pointless really, if I didn't tell you how much my new, all singing, all dancing tooth is going to cost.

Two thousand Five hundred pound.

Oh, jeez what have I done?

Russell Cuts the Corn From The Brewers Whiskers.

1 comment:

Vanessa V Kilmer said...

Wow. I'd never smile again.

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A Utility Fish Shed Blog

A Utility Fish Shed Blog