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[sam]

still from The Dentist

As if to celebrate the first day of spring, I'm breaking in my new NHS dentist today. Visiting my regular one leaves too big a carbon footprint, as he keeps office hours in NYC.

When I was younger my hormones occasionally fueled not-always-antiseptic fantasies involving the dental hygienist. There was something about the posture and the emphasis on the mouth that did it, and I always was a sucker for a woman in uniform.

[sam]

My tongue still hasn't gotten used to the place where one of my lower front teeth used to be. It is often found exploring the gap, and minding it very much.

Around the time Viking was landing on Mars I toppled out of a tree and twirled through my own space, landing amidst a circle of surprised friends. Besides knocking the stuffing out of me, this flight resulted in two broken teeth and fortunately only one busted eardrum. My ear healed, and my teeth were later capped.

Fast forward 30 years. One of the caps loses the plot and is eventually yanked, root and all, leaving prime oral real estate vacant while I consider my options. A bridge doesn't appeal due to the piers which must be destroyed to anchor it, and a denture leaves my mouth feeling filled with plastick. That leaves an imp£ant. I ponder British pricing structures, consider dental tourism to Eastern Europe and beyond (Sri Lanka is even mooted), and finally decide not to decide.

Still climb trees.