I HATE the dentist

How very strange, a good day for once (bodily function wise). Although I’m pretty sure it’s because I was hung-over all day the day before and ate jack all alas there is nothing that needs to leave my body today. Hence a good day be default. I actually don’t even remember going to the loo once today, very rare for a day like this. I struggle to remember when everyday was like this, normality. It seems so long ago and I suppose at the time I took it for granted. I seem to be spiralling into deep and morbid thought this evening after watching part of a documentary about a man who had and died from motor neurone disease. You can find his story here http://oftenawesome.org/

Stuff like that always makes me think about my own mortality and how you really can’t sit on your arse and let life pass you by. You could wake up tomorrow with a terminal illness or who knows. There is no guarantee that you are going to live to be an old man. Saying that, at the moment I am still quite happy to lie in my bed till ridiculous hours of the day and sleep like some kind of long term coma patient, only because even if I do get up or plan to do something my arse dictates what I can and can’t do so I rarely ever bother to plan anything and when I do, I have to starve myself for at least a day and a half before and live off of lucozade and redbull. Saying that I went to the dentist today for the first time in two and a half years, because honestly, my teeth have not been high on my list of priorities the last few years. I had my check up expecting to be told I need all sorts of horrendous treatments but all I need is one filling and have to stop drinking fizzy drinks. Hrmmmm I’m not going to make unrealistic goals so I’ll try and cut down instead of outright give up.

Did I mention that as a child I feared the dentist more than the blood sucking, animal murdering, hell spawn paedophile demon that I thought lived under my bed? I mean the most embarrassing time was when I must have been about 11 and I decided I am not going to my next dentist appointment with the dentist from hell whose sole purpose in life was, I thought, to inflict pain and suffering on me like some kind of Nazi POW camp guard. I worked out when our next appointment was and came up with a plan. I would hide in my garden until well after the set appointment time, that way there was no way we could go even if we were late. Now problem number one, my garden is not that large, maybe 15-20 meters long and about 3m wide at its widest. Problem number two was that I didn’t have the balls to actually “run away”. So instead I would put on every single piece of camouflage clothing I owned, face paint, scarves and all (remember, I loved the army) and hide in the small number of bushes we had in our garden at the time.

So the day of the appointment came. The appointment was arranged for around 9.30 let’s say. So I was up at 5am, the crack of dawn because I knew my dad got up early for work and I had to beat him out the door. So I got up, camouflage gear on, face paint on, ready to roll. I could have put a royal marines sniper to shame. I crept downstairs, which in my house is no mean feat due to the lack of carpets and ancient floorboards. I used a spare key to open and lock the back door behind me so as not to raise suspicion through missing back door keys. Now where to hide? I picked the bush that was actually closest to the house as it had the best and thickest cover. It was only about a meter tall, wide and deep. The bush was only about 4 meters from the back door. So I got as deep into the bush as I could, got comfortable and settled in for a long wait evading “the enemy”. About 2 hours passed before the first inkling of enemy activity appeared, my dad opened the back door, looked outside and went back in. I then knew then enemy were on alert and I had raised their suspicions. Half an hour or so later, reinforcements arrive, my mum comes out the back door and actively searches around the garden. I held my breath as she rustled the bush I was in but she missed me and returned to the enemy barracks. During the next hour both brothers came out to look for me and they also didn’t see me despite actually looking in the bush I was in. I was a fucking shit hot commando in my eyes, they had been less than a meter from me and none of them had seen me.

The ultimate test was when my dad, the camp komandant, came out to have one last proper root around the garden. I started to shit myself because he was being fucking thorough. Getting properly into bushes and shouting my name. I thought this was it, I’m fucked and going to be in soooo much trouble. He arrived at my hiding spot and leaned into the bush moved the branches about. My bum hole was now making noises that only dogs and certain varieties of bats could hear. and he looked me dead in my face. That’s it. I’m fucked. But he stood up and walked off, apparently not seeing me. SAS? they didn’t have shit on me! I should have been training THEM for escape and evasion. I exhaled after I realised I was still holding my breath for what was a ridiculous amount of time. I left it another 45 minutes as then it would be midday and well past the appointment and we couldn’t go.

I finally emerged from my hide and now in true commando style walked hysterically crying to the back door realising I was in the shit and this tactic would lull the enemy into a false sense of security and gain their sympathy. I entered the kitchen and into my mum’s arms who was moments away from calling the police apparently. She demanded to know why the fuck I had been hiding in the garden. Through my blubbering tears I told her I didn’t want to go to the dentist because I hated it that much.

“Hold on Hastie, what dentists appointment?”

“The one today at 9.30 that we’ve missed”

“No?! That’s Tomorrow…………”

“FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!”

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