toxicsoup

Well, not toxic, exactly... maybe just a little bit rank. But in a nice way. With a garnish.

Friday, January 19, 2007

windy

Apparently people have been very badly affected by extremely strong winds all over the country, in the last few days.

I know how they feel.

Tuesday, January 16, 2007

fuff

Imp farts on my leg.

I am appalled.

"Did you just fart on my leg?" I interrogate, skillfully.

She buries her head under the duvet and sniggers.

She farts again, this time with added gusto

Now I am very worried as she is a headteacher and has no business behaving this way. I think I should write to someone important, to complain.

Thursday, January 04, 2007

dental trauma

I am at the dentist!

He seems to be a really nice bloke, but dentists will always be a breed apart. They are people who get paid to inflict pain, like career-murderers or dominatrix. It is a proven scientific fact that all dentists have the hard-back version of the Myra Hindley Biography next to their History of Screams Compendium (Lulu, her Life and Loves), in the Easy-Reading section of their book collections. Also they are all failed lobster-chefs. Fact.

I glance at him suspiciously as he prepares his instruments of torture.

Time shakes a bit and the temperature drops a few degrees.

Extractions. Not something you would choose to have done for fun, in the New Year.

I seem to remember reading a while back that a hundred years ago (or so), men used to force their new brides to have all their teeth removed once they got married, to prevent expense in later life. I consider this and, conclude that all men are bastards.

This particular bloke leans forward and injects the gum.

Silence.

The dental assistant hovers, in a hoverey dental assistant kind of way.

I wonder how much you get paid for handling cotton wool all day?

With the swift determination of a pouncing lion, the dentist swoops in for the kill.

***

“AAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrghhhhhh!” I scream in my head.

The pain is excruciating! I can feel my bones crunching.

I weep silently and bravely say nothing.

Sweat spangles on my forehead.

Blimey, it’s painful.

The dentist flips the wisdom tooth out of Imp’s mouth and I watch in relieved agony, fascinated, knowing that she doesn’t even realise that it’s all done, yet.

“Bite on this, please”, he murmurs, shoving some gauze into her mouth, and she squeezes my hand again, expecting some more pain.

Bloody hell, she’s got a powerful grip.

I must make sure that next time I encase my hand in Plaster of Paris, before I recklessly promise to hold her hand during some medical procedure.

Clasping my poor, crushed hand, I whimper pathetically as we leave the dental surgery.