Every half year a colorful card falls on my doormat. It always lands so the merry image shows and the text is hidden. Whenever I pick up the little card, my happy surprise soon changes in abhorrence. Yes, the dentist check up.
Today was the set date. The dentist's office is about 200 meters from my house, so I leave at the latest possible moment. Armed with my book, chin up, eyes determined, I stepped into the room, where Anja, his (very nice and friendly) assistant was already waiting. Small talk, lots of small talk to divert the nerves.
"Marion, you may step through," the Man-In-White says with a smile. "Right," I mutter, and slide into the chair. Blue rubber gloves and special magnifying glasses that could easily be used as a super lens for a camera, suddenly appear in my visual. The comfortable chair changes with a soft buzzing into a miniature operating table. Horizontally stretched out, I obediently open my mouth in the sunny light of a huge lamp. Here we go.
Carefully he checks every tooth with hammer and drill... uhm I mean with a little mirror and hook. No matter what he does, I won't move a muscle. Tip: never give away if something hurts by grimacing, because then your fate is sealed. Left under inside, front, right under inside, back along the outside. Then up, up, up the teeth he goes. Meanwhile he's talking to Anja about another client. "Keep talking man," I think, "keep talking and don't mind me!".
Suddenly he stretches, nods and then tells me everything is fine. I can't believe my ears but won't take any chances on a sudden change of mind. Nimbly I hop from the chair, almost getting myself hooked around the arm rest. At safe distance from the dentist, my joking abilities suddenly return. Pfew, what a relief!
Safe for another six months...