Today I was at the dentist for a filling. My dentist is young, gorgeous and always up for a bit of a chat; so returning for a filling isn’t as bad as it would be if he was ancient and brusque with bad breath and smelly armpits.
He very gently inserted the anaesthetic needle, then chatted to me while it took effect. Now, for some reason it wasn’t working as well as he’d anticipated – so more time leaning over and peering into my
eyes mouth was required. Shame about the sci-fi goggles I’d been forced to wear – not a good look under any circumstances, and certainly not aiding my attempts to look alluring.
Was very glad I was lying down when at one point – without warning – to check if the anaesthetic had finally been successful, he slowly stroked the length of my entire lower lip with his thumb. And I mean very…very…slowly. I was suddenly plunged into my very own, private version of 50 Shades of Grey…
Finally my mouth was numb, and he proceeded with the filling; while I gazed up at him, hoping he wasn’t smearing my carefully applied make-up. Eventually he finished. I sat up to be relieved of the goggles and very fetching plastic bib, then tried to rinse and spit as elegantly as possible. I got out of the chair, picked up my coat, smiled (stopped short of winking) and left.
Coming out of his surgery I caught sight of myself in the wall mirror: hair all over the place (rubbing against the back of the chair had caused it to fall out of the clip), smudged mascara (my eyes had watered because the bloody goggles kept falling onto my eyelashes) and a wet patch down my front (I’d missed my mouth trying to rinse and spit with numb lips).
So, less 50 Shades of Grey and more 50 Shades of No Way!