Categories: uncategorized
Date: 02 March 2009 08:45:14
yet I shall fear no drill.
Hmm.... why does my faith fail me just at the moment when I realise that the appointment for my root filling is this afternoon?
And why does it have to be at the other side of the Island so that the time taken to get there and get home again adds to the sense of torture?
Edited to say that I survived. Which is worst, I wonder: the needle going into the side of your mouth, the drill excavating the deepest depths, the numbness, the decreasing numbness and increasing soreness, or the original toothache? I seem to be able to speak - we won't mention the embarrassing dribbling when I tried to negotiate a mug of cool coffee, though.