I realise now that my nashers are not mine – after the recent trips to my dental practice, I realise they are HERS.
I refer to Miss Lady Hygienist.
We’re on a mission here, Houston.
As she fills my mouth up with hacksaw, scalpel and concrete driller, Miss Lady Hygienist prattles away.
“Oh yes, we’ll get our teeth back on track, so we will. “ (Yes she’s Irish)
Scrape, poke and dig.
“Just have to do some work on these, and we’ll have these teeth back in condition.”
I agree, hell, of course I agree.
“Mmmphhh, prawffff, ffffffthhhh”
Dentists understand the lingo.
Smiling at the task ahead Miss Lady Hygienist polishes away and looks forward to seeing me again.
I promise to bring back ‘our teeth’ in good and shining order.
Not mine, but hers.
4 comments:
This may sound perverse but I LIKE going to the hygienist.
Yes... , now that IS perverse!! Nice lady hygenist then, you got??
My hygenist is delightful but probably not in the sense of your enquiry; she's about 60 years old and very chatty. But she's also very good and I feel that I come out looking like a new person. A bit like going to the hairdresser's.
Errr... right then.
Ok just put it down to the dark depths of Fred's murky mind.
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