Inci-dental Moments

If I was to give myself ‘lines’ to write this week, they would be:

I must pay attention. I must not day-dream. I will do better.

Now, that is an affirmation of sorts isn’t it?

So, you may well ask, what brings on this need to self-scold? Well, we all do things that embarrass us from time to time don’t we? I know I do and quite honestly, if I paid more attention I could save my blushes.

E.g. Earlier this month:

I left the driver’s door wide open while I took elderly mother-in-law and toddler grandson into Sainsbury’s supermarket. I didn’t know I had done this of course. Even when there was an announcement over the Tannoy asking the person who owned a white Audi, with my registration number, to come to reception, I was none the wiser. White Audi? Mine is dark blue, I must have misheard the registration. I ignored it. Even when they repeated it, I decided, if it was my car, there was no point rushing out to hear bad news. So I took my time.

What idiot leaves their car door wide open? This idiot!

Luckily, nothing had been taken. Any thief would have supposed me to be somewhere in the vicinity I expect. My mother-in-law kindly said that I had had a lot to think about what with “an old’un and a young’un to manage,” she was too kind.

On the way home, I took mother-in-law and toddler to visit my middle daughter for a cup of tea and a slice of cake. As we left, I carried a reluctant toddler under one arm and supported mother-in-law with the other. Having got mother-in-law to the car, I put my handbag down so that I could strap toddler into his car seat and ran round the other side, to help mother-in-law in.

We had been home not five minutes when the phone rang. One of my daughter’s neighbours had found my handbag sitting in the middle of the shared drive. Red faced, I drove back to collect it.

Last week, I turned up at the dental surgery for an appointment a week early.

It could be my age or it could just be the time of year but I have certainly become a little dozy.

This week, I breezed into reception and said,

“Hello, I’m back again!”

(Always best to poke fun at oneself, I find, before anyone else can.)

“You’ve got the right day this time,” the receptionist confirmed with a grin.

As I prepared to sit down on a plush, leather sofa, I noticed a £5 note lying on the seat. Naturally, I handed it in to the receptionist.

“While you are up, could you take this questionnaire and complete it for me once you have been seen by the dentist please?” she asked.

I exchanged the £5 note for the questionnaire and carried it back to my seat. I dropped bag and cardigan, car keys and notes onto the seat next to me, at which point I was called by the dentist.

Grabbing bag, pen, notes, questionnaire and cardigan, I sailed into the surgery in more of a flap than I had intended. My dentist, we’ll call her Sally, was smiling and chatting about this and that as I put my accoutrements down on a chair and untangled my cardigan which had inexplicably become wound round the bag’s handle. Making myself comfortable, I relaxed, ignoring the sound of my belongings sliding to the floor. I sailed through the check-up. No problems – hooray. I was about to jump out of the chair and reclaim my scattered possessions, when Sally forestalled me. She wanted to show me my upper left molars on the state-of-the-art screen.

I lay back so that she could use the state-of-the-art camera and grab a shot of said molars. Sadly, they succumbed to fillings years ago and there was none of this gleaming white amalgam then. Were they ok? I was confused. I thought we had finished. What was this extra curricular activity about? She pointed at the molars. Had I thought about swapping my ancient silver fillings for nice white crowns? They were ok now, she told me, but could weaken later…

I recognised a marketing ploy when I saw one. Talk about having a captive audience!

I admit I have considered the idea she posed from time to time. Sally suggested making an appointment now and getting it done as soon as possible, was I free tomorrow? I panicked slightly.

“I would have to go away and check my diary,” I lied. Sally nodded.

“Of course, just call us to make an appointment and we’ll book you in, next week if you like,” she said, adding, “A lot of the treatment would be covered by Denplan so it’s not too expensive.”

“A lot? Not all?” I digested this information. I couldn’t help feel I was being reeled in and it was not the most comfortable of feelings. Something clicked in my brain. At this point, she had as much chance of selling me white crowns as she did of selling snow to Eskimos. I was leaving. Gingerly, I began to slide off the chair. Sally was still talking about the white crowns. I wanted to say—don’t push me!

I decided to leave quickly, without fuss. I reached for the door handle behind me.

“Well, we hope to see you again soon then,” Sally smiled at length, proffering my notes. I took the notes from her and, one hand firmly on the door handle, thanked her, intending to walk away, my dignity in tact.

I pushed the handle down and pulled,

“Oh, no, it’s that way!” Sally said suddenly, making me jump. I looked to where she was pointing. The door through which I had come only minutes before, was indeed over the opposite side of the room. So, what had I just opened? I looked behind me as though I didn’t believe her. Oh lord, I had been about to walk into the store cupboard.

“Oh,” I said.

I closed it.

The dental nurse shrieked with laughter. The dentist shrieked with laughter, dignity flew out the window.

I was giggling all the way home.

I am still considering the white crowns…but first, I’d better sharpen my pencil…