Of Course! I’m a genius

The main problem with anything "dental," is the issue of being static. Static is boring.

The other main problem with anything dental, is that the boring also takes a very long time. This is a poor combination in my view. Of course the view is poor too. Even though my dentist has a telly suspended just in line with the patient’s view, the view available is of ‘peaceful’ things, such as fields, waves, sunsets and the like, all of which only serve to remind you, that very shortly R.I.P. will be attached to a paper label and tied to your big toe in the morgue.

The peaceful music is enough to make you rip your ears off. Broadly speaking, ears are a disadvantageous appendage whilst visiting the dentist. Everything would be so much better if you were unable to hear the drill, or will it be bone cracks? [translation = snap, crackle and pop] There again, a couple of ear plugs in the nostrils, might help the frightful smell. In essence all functioning senses, should ideally cease to function, whilst you are being bored and static.

“Are you ready then?” he asks my quaking form.
“Two minutes, let me just........ nip to the loo.” [translation = quick thinking prevaricator]

I nip to the loo clutching my book. [translation = talisman] I decide that I shall take my book with me to counter boredom. I try not to think of lying on my back in the dentist’s chair, with my arms extended to hold my book over my face, to read and block out the view of the R.I.P. telly. Perhaps I should take a paperback instead of a hardback so that my muscles don't quake? There again, since most of my body will be quaking, jelly arms might not be too noticeable.

I debate. How will I remember to take my book home? If I come home and the anesthetic wears off, I shall be severely miffed if I am bookless. [translation = as well as toothless] I have a brilliant idea. I choose a safe course of action and decide to write ‘book’ on my left hand in pen. I look at my left hand and decide that there is already so much written there, that there won’t be enough room to write four more letters. How can I remember to take my book home? I wash my hands and nip back to the kitchen to grab a permanent marker because I have had another even more brilliant idea.


“Are you ready then?” he asks my quaking form.
“Two minutes, let me just nip to the ….er…..room.”

I dash off in the opposite direction to do the devil’s work in private. I pull my hair back from my forehead and try to write ‘book’ there, a message to the dentist. I use my very best handwriting, but not the copperplate. I am distracted by the need to join the freckles, dot to dot, rather than write letters. I jump in front of the mirror just to check. Perfect! I let the hair fall back down so that no-one will be any the wiser until I am lying down being bored. I race downstairs to my chauffeur to indicate my readiness, book in hand.

As it happens, my dentist is a pretty cute cookie. [translation = a damned fine woman] I am confident that she’ll get the message loud and clear. She certainly did on the first occasion we met. There was no need to translate the four inch strip of duct tape that sealed my mouth closed. She has the photograph to prove it, evidence of my "normal life."

As that my friend is the art of delegation.

For additional examples of my flawless logic, visit "here."

Of Course! I’m a genius

http://alien-in-a-foreign-field.blogspot.com/2007/08/of-course-im-genius.html