Have you ever been chewing the top of a pen while writing and it’s suddenly cracked and given way and you end up with a few shards of plastic in your mouth? That’s what I thought had happened when I was sitting in bed writing my diary this morning. But when I pulled the pen out of my mouth I was surprised to find it completely intact. A fraction of a second later it dawned on me what had just happened as my tongue shot up to a gap and I spat out my front tooth.
Actually it’s a crown and fortunately it doesn’t hurt, but after calling the dentist every 4 minutes for an hour and a half, and only getting the answer machine, I was beginning to fear that out our tenuous link to any hope of dental services in this corner of Scotland (see Dentists, NHS and Poland) had disappeared right at the time I needed it most. However, at 9.45am I was called back to say my dentist is away on holiday but I can be squeezed in for an emergency session on Tuesday.
In the meantime I have become intensely aware of how many words begin with “F and “V”, and that I can’t seem to kiss my children. Partly this is to do with the fact that when you pucker up you create a certain amount of suction between your lips and front teeth. I had no idea this was the case until the gap where the tooth used to be prevented this subtle and delicate oral manoeuvre. The other part is to do with the fact that my kids now cringe whenever I come near them. This new look of mine is apparently quite disturbing.
I might have a degree in philosophy but I now look like a country hick whose mother is also his sister and his regular lover supplies all the family’s wool needs.