It’s been well documented round these parts that I’ve a hypersensitive gag reflex. This has been tested to its absolute limits this week since my mouth became host to a foreign object in the shape of my very first denture. Talk about gag! And what a bloody palaver trying to keep it in! I’ve sooked myself inside out trying to make it stick to the roof of my mouth which appears to be made of some completely non-stick NASA carbon nan-rods material or some shit and repels whatever similar substance the plate bit is made of. I end up clickety-clacking my way through a slice of toast and shtruggling to get my tongue round wordsh with an S in them. I removed the bloody thing so I could ask for a sausage supper the other night, after Slimming World. (Fuck it; it’s Christmas). I’d have been laughed out of the chippy with “a thauthage thupper pleathe”.
This replacement tooth is meant to be a temporary measure until I decide on the appropriate course of action between e.g. a dental bridge or an implant, neither of which fill me with much in the way of desire if I’m perfectly honest having heard the eye watering cost of each – a squillion pounds for a bridge and a trillion pounds for the implant plus a kidney and my corneas – neither of which I’m quite finished with yet.
Aftercare advice consisted of being told to ‘take it out at night and keep it in a glass of water’. Really? Is this what my life has become? My teeth in a glass by the bed? I’ve only been married since January – I’d like to keep some mystery alive for chrissake although that time I cut my toenails legs akimbo on the kitchen chair naked but for a dressing gown has probably put paid to that to be fair.
Dentists are like funeral directors; they get away with murder, albeit not literally (which reminds me of the time when my dementia riddled mother forgot the name for a funeral director and said “the man who puts the man away”, and I lolled for ages) and one rarely has the chutzpah to challenge the cost of either. We just blankly proffer a credit card, which is already invariably on the brink of maxed-outness, if my financial imprudence is anything like yours.
(Please say it is)
Not being morbid or anything but will I get my money’s worth from a fancypants dental intervention? I’ve been trying to hasten the decision making process in relation to aforementioned dentistry by performing some algebraic jiggery-pokery to work out the potential return on investment, given my advancing years, thus:
where Ω is age at time of purchase, µ is my estimated life expectancy and a big curly lowercase F is probably the number of times I’ll lisp ‘thfuck thith thit’ while yanking the thing out of my mouth and stuffing it into my coat pocket with the dog’s poop bags.
I also applied similar dodgy algebra to my ‘will I, won’t I’ passport renewal dilemma but in the end threw caution to the winds and got it anyway and I’ve already been abroad on it so it’s already started to pay for itself thank Christ or I’d never sleep a wink thinking about that £72.50 wasted that could’ve been spent on Tatty Devine necklaces of dreams or hula hoops which is my latest obsession despite having THREE and not being able to keep ONE on my waist for more than two revolutions which I argue is probably due to my having no actual recognisable waist upon which hula hoops might consider revolving.
Apologies for that long unpunctuated sentence but I tried to punctuate it and it lost its punchiness, so here it stands before you, unpunctuated.
The tooth is now in my coat pocket by the way. I’m shick of shounding like Sean Connery and it’sh exhaushting trying to keep it sooked in. Furthermore it’sh imposhible to eat a French Fanshy in a ladylike manner with falsh teeth in.
PS Hello new readers! I haven’t blogged for almost a year. Feel free to read through the back catalogue of nonsense if you’re at a loose end over the festive break. I’m looking forward to a couple of weeks off the work to catch up with all the stories and articles on Facebook I’ve saved for later (I have self esteem issues and am convinced I’m not allowed to read for pleasure during daylight hours, although I’ve no idea who’s judging) which run into the thousands and cover topics as diverse as ‘Do you have ADHD or are you just an idiot?’ and ‘ how to knit a merkin’. Don’t google that.