Getting a tooth out
was a strangely unthreatening affair for a nervous wreck like me. My dentist is very good, unlike some of the butchers around here.... he gives jabs stealthily so you never see the needle, he always ensures you are well and truly numbed before any work is carried out, and all fear of dentists has been utterly assuaged by years of good service. So although I was a tad nervous, getting the one half of my broken tooth that remained in my head pulled out when I was 16 was something I could handle.

He numbed my mouth completely, but had difficulty pulling the tooth. This was odd, as the other half of it had been easily removed by a mini cheddar... a bloody mini cheddar broke my tooth! I actually began nervously giggling as he wrenched the bugger free with a "Schleeerrrrp!". Lovely. Didn't feel a thing.

Puffed up by my own bravery, I manfully strolled into the reception area with the pretty dental nurse. I spoke with the pretty receptionist about how I hadn't felt a thing and nah, it was nothing really. Nervous? Ptchah! They both gave me an "awwwww" look, as though I was a little puppy, and the receptionist handed me a hanky. "Here you go love, you're dribbling a wee bit."

Dammit.

I felt a little annoyed that my macho display of uber-manliness had been spoiled by my numb-faced drooling, so I took the hanky and wiped my chin. The hanky was dark red. The spots in front of my eyes were instantly there as the first symptoms of passing out came on. I managed to get to the foot of the stairs and spat out a thick black glob of blood.

I had to lay in the back seat of the car on the way home. I don't think I've ever tried to impress a lady since. The weird thing was, I never realised it was the blood, I just thought it was because of the jabs!
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Fri 8 Aug 2008, 15:09, Reply)