Tuesday, 7 February 2012


My inspiration has to come hesitantly. Even if I cap my hands above my eyebrows as if it were a visor, I can’t see a thing to do(hooo).
And then, the phone rings.
Delighted with this change of fortune, I look at the screen. An unknown number. Yes!
And it's, oh confound it, the dentist.
The assistant asks if I can come in today for my appointment instead of tomorrow, because the dentist has a gap today? All of a sudden my day gets this useful filling, that hopefully isn’t for my teeth and just as I’m about to laugh about this 'not the best joke ever', I realise that I’d better hurry and brush my teeth.

Only half an hour later I lie down in the dental hygienist’s chair. She is a rather social type. While she cleans my teeth with lots of water, I concentrate on bubbling up answers to her questions. And if she really can’t hear what my answer is, no problem either, then we just stop and I can answer five questions at once. It’s all a very convenient one stop-shop.

Just when I think that this treatment will last forever if we stop every minute, and why the hell she never chose a profession with nails, dentist N. throws open the door.
He stands in the doorway, hands on his hips, and looks as if he, like Lucky Luke, could pull two drills from his holsters any time. Because he is quite muscular, I expect him to turn sideways as he comes through the door, after which he’d probably rhythmically line-dance inwards with a sidestep.
He looks at me for a moment from the doorway.
I look back with my head in an upright position, which is quite uncomfortable, because I of course have to lie down in that dentist’s chair. Fortunately, I can barely suppress the inclination to open my mouth, because that wouldn’t be beneficial for my second chin. Moreover, it wasn’t as if he could examine my teeth and start filling any holes from that distance.
Then he simply walked in and said:
‘So, what can I do for this young lady?’
From my horizontal position, I first took a look at him, then I looked up at the assistant and if nobody said anything, apparently I have to respond myself. And then the assistant and I in unison answer:
‘A regular check up.’
‘Yes, exactly what she said’, I add in all my silliness. It must be because everybody’s standing, except me.

The dentist pulls on two solid blue gloves that he snaps on his wrists. It's a lot of showing off, speaking of which, I honestly would prefer him to practice more dentistry and a little less sport.
And then they both lean forward over my mouth. The dentist starts talking about braces and that he has a friend that can fit those braces and that those braces won’t have to stay in for a very long time and if he would give me the number of his friend?
Denstists, friends and diminutive words. It's about as sexy as men who cut Sim cards into pieces.
And speaking of which: a micro Sim card goes with a contract. And yes, you can buy one if you are on pre-paid as well, but those cards are in stock just as often as a good dentist.

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