Feeling Younger than Ever

Yesterday I went to the Dentists, and a Hygienist with very large, white teeth told me that I was a 'naughty girl' for not having been for two years. Before I had the chance to say, 'You call me a naughty girl again and I'll punch your shiny teeth into the back of your head', he'd shoved the sucky thing into my gob, and was attacking me with the scraper.

The pain was ferocious. There was blood, there were tears, and there was Playschool on the TV, acting as a distraction for those unlucky enough to be hygienised. As I desperately tried to wriggle out of the clutches of this toothy demon, but was distracted by Big Ted playing with a space ship, I realised what was happening:

I wasn't at the Dentists - I had been transported to my childhood. An act of regression so worrying, and so fierce, that I was paralysed by the shock of it. All I could do was keep watching Big Ted, Jemima and the gang, while the man with the scraper told me how bad I'd been, and how I had to floss every night before bed. I've just turned 25, and here I was being told off for being a bad girl.

At the end of the gruelling ordeal, he told me that I'd have to come back every 6 months for this regressive dental therapy (he calls it cleaning), and that if I didn't, my teeth may fall out by the age of 50. I told him that I don't expect to be alive, let alone have any teeth, by that age, so not coming back at all should be just about fine with me.

After receiving a disapproving look, and a 'tut tut', I left... with a sticker of a very large tooth that had apparently fallen out of someone's mouth and had mutated to form a smile and two eyes. I thought that I probably should have pointed out the irony of this image to the Hygienist, but I didn't want to risk having a letter sent home to my parents.

I've decided that if brushing and using mouthwash isn't effective enough, that's not my problem - it's the problem of the Dental Association, who should feel free to contact me with an offer of compensation for my ordeal.