They were Soft and Lovely and Bountiful
I recanted my previous dental episode to the taxi driver as he drove me to another appointment. Why I felt the need to share I'm still not sure. Probably nerves.
"Here's wah yi wanna do. Git pished, get yer mate til pull it out fer ye and then bung him a tenner."
not for me thank you....
He assured me that's what he does when he feels the niggling twinge of toothache and then he smiled at me. He wasn't lying. He had a mouth that would make Shane Magowan wince. I knew then I was doing the right thing by going back to get my whole toothy architecture brought back to something close to normal. The dentist had indicated, mainly by rubbing her hands with glee and ordering champagne, on my last visit that there was major work required, something akin to what the good people of Dresden faced after the allies had bombed the shit out of their city. I was facing much the same costs for reconstruction too.
I sat patiently in the waiting room with all the other sorry cases hoping that the keeper of the diary behind the perspex glass would call our name next. Many candy lovers and toothpaste dodgers were called before the receptionist finally summonsed me.
"Ticket? Meal Ticket?"
That'll be me then.
"There you go Mr Ticket, room five, top of the stairs."
And off I skipped or something close to skipping up the stairs to room five at the top of the stairs. The dentist, now sporting a diamond crusted tiara and golden smock, welcomed me with a hearty hello.
"Ach Mr Ticket! How are you today? Still eating the gob stoppers and hard candy I hope?"
Oh yes the major reconstruction and salvaging work of my teeth was gonna pay off big time. The dentists big lamp thingy had been replaced with a golden chandelier and the dentists assistant had acquired herself an assistant of her own, a charming if overly effeminate boy named Jim Bob. He occupied himself with the peeling of grapes and other such frippery.
I lay there quietly on the dentists chair feeling my mouth go numb and listening to the merry and relaxed discourse between the dentist and her assistant.
"Oh I'm getting a red speedboat!"
"Red? Oh me too!"
"Can you feel any pain Mr Ticket?"
I muttered, "no" but thought, "only in my wallet."
A few moments later and she was peering over me from behind smiling and telling me not to worry.
Worry? Worry about what? And then it started, the drill. Is there a darker and more sadistic sound in the whole of christendom? I think fucking not.
Outwardly I was, as the dentist kept saying, "a very brave boy" inwardly I was crying like a fat kid in a candy shop with his mouth wired shut. There wasn't much pain but it was mightily uncomfortable. She kept telling me I was being "a very brave boy". If I hadn't had so many fingers, drills, suck pipes, and what have you in my mouth I would have told her I was thirty fucking five and not five.
But as the drill was switched from it's setting of mild discomfort to "she cannae take it any more captain" I did feel like a very brave boy, a very brave boy who was on the verge of crying out loud and quite probably messing himself.
As she pushed forward with all her tools and gadgets I pushed back. I kept pushing back to the point where I was more off the seat than on. To counteract my wriggling she pushed forward with more gusto than previous.
And then I found my happy place. A place where I found no pain, a place free from the satanic whirring of the drill, where the poke poke of the sucky suck pipe didn't bother me. It was so enchanting I could have fallen asleep for an age. It was soft and lovely and bountiful.
Of course when I realised I was in fact nestling my head on the dentists ample bosoms I withdrew quick sharpish and apologised between gulps of air. But it was quite lovely and given the option next time between gas, injection or bosoms as my preferred method of pain relief I'll be taking the boobs.
Moments later it was all over and half my mouth was something close to being perfect again. I gargled, wiped, blushed at the dentist and said a very nervous almost embarrassed goodbye. Nestling your head in a highly trained professionals boobies cant be good can it? That said I cant wait to go back.
I got a right slap when I told Little Miss Manuel, but hey at least I told her.
I sat patiently in the waiting room with all the other sorry cases hoping that the keeper of the diary behind the perspex glass would call our name next. Many candy lovers and toothpaste dodgers were called before the receptionist finally summonsed me.
"Ticket? Meal Ticket?"
That'll be me then.
"There you go Mr Ticket, room five, top of the stairs."
And off I skipped or something close to skipping up the stairs to room five at the top of the stairs. The dentist, now sporting a diamond crusted tiara and golden smock, welcomed me with a hearty hello.
"Ach Mr Ticket! How are you today? Still eating the gob stoppers and hard candy I hope?"
Oh yes the major reconstruction and salvaging work of my teeth was gonna pay off big time. The dentists big lamp thingy had been replaced with a golden chandelier and the dentists assistant had acquired herself an assistant of her own, a charming if overly effeminate boy named Jim Bob. He occupied himself with the peeling of grapes and other such frippery.
I lay there quietly on the dentists chair feeling my mouth go numb and listening to the merry and relaxed discourse between the dentist and her assistant.
"Oh I'm getting a red speedboat!"
"Red? Oh me too!"
"Can you feel any pain Mr Ticket?"
I muttered, "no" but thought, "only in my wallet."
A few moments later and she was peering over me from behind smiling and telling me not to worry.
Worry? Worry about what? And then it started, the drill. Is there a darker and more sadistic sound in the whole of christendom? I think fucking not.
Outwardly I was, as the dentist kept saying, "a very brave boy" inwardly I was crying like a fat kid in a candy shop with his mouth wired shut. There wasn't much pain but it was mightily uncomfortable. She kept telling me I was being "a very brave boy". If I hadn't had so many fingers, drills, suck pipes, and what have you in my mouth I would have told her I was thirty fucking five and not five.
But as the drill was switched from it's setting of mild discomfort to "she cannae take it any more captain" I did feel like a very brave boy, a very brave boy who was on the verge of crying out loud and quite probably messing himself.
As she pushed forward with all her tools and gadgets I pushed back. I kept pushing back to the point where I was more off the seat than on. To counteract my wriggling she pushed forward with more gusto than previous.
And then I found my happy place. A place where I found no pain, a place free from the satanic whirring of the drill, where the poke poke of the sucky suck pipe didn't bother me. It was so enchanting I could have fallen asleep for an age. It was soft and lovely and bountiful.
Of course when I realised I was in fact nestling my head on the dentists ample bosoms I withdrew quick sharpish and apologised between gulps of air. But it was quite lovely and given the option next time between gas, injection or bosoms as my preferred method of pain relief I'll be taking the boobs.
Moments later it was all over and half my mouth was something close to being perfect again. I gargled, wiped, blushed at the dentist and said a very nervous almost embarrassed goodbye. Nestling your head in a highly trained professionals boobies cant be good can it? That said I cant wait to go back.
I got a right slap when I told Little Miss Manuel, but hey at least I told her.
