As is the case with my everyday life, things tend to go from the average mishap, to bad, and then to worse. This week's 'bad' consisted of a well avoided (until now) trip to the dentist where I was informed (after at least two sudokus worth of waiting) that I would be forced, yet again, to voluntarily sit in a chair for an hour and cry whilst someone drills into my gum and casually asks me how life is going. I don't really know what root canals are, but I know that I am not overly fond of them. I also got treated (why does 'tret' sound right?!) to a series of x-rays, throughout which my dentist struck up various topics of conversation and then proceeded to look at me expectantly, waiting for a answer. How he expected me to reply when I had a mouthful of plastic, I do not know, so I looked up and gave him my best deadpan stare instead. (I'm not entirely sure it had the desired effect as I was, at the time, drooling, but still.) It's times like this I really wish I hadn't ripped my front teeth out as a child, a story I'm aware I probably can't skip over as casually as I would like, so here it is:
As a child, I was always rather clumsy, or accident prone, or unlucky, or basically just any adjective that isn't as harsh but really just means stupid. Until I was about thirteen, I was one of the aforementioned children from my previous blog that needs entertaining every minute of the day. Due to this, I often ended up getting myself stuck in various unfortunate situations as a result of some experiment or other that had gone somewhat awry - for example, the time I stuck my thumb in the end of a recorder to see what would happen and got it stuck, or the time I sucked 1cm of coca-cola from the bottom of a 2 litre bottle for about twenty minutes, thus resulting in my lips swelling to twice their average size and not returning to normal for another hour and a half. Anyway, on this particular day, I obviously thought that it would be fun to see if the light pull in my dad's bathroom could hold my entire body weight (I was only seven at the time, but I still weighed the equivalent of an underdeveloped whale). In short, it couldn't (not that I really expected it to...) and thus I lost forever the majority of my front teeth. In hindsight, it hasn't been one of the most successful experiments I've ever conducted, but I have learnt from it - mainly that chew bars are not really an option anymore, but I'm sure somewhere there is an actual moral to the story.
Anyway, onwards and upwards, my day gradually got worse when I received a message from my dad telling me I had been fined for driving in a bus and taxi lane. It always baffles me how cameras detect these things - my dad's car is so big that it's practically a bus, a large taxi at the very least, but apparently we do not meet the required criteria (the standard is just so much higher these days), and so instead I was sent not only a nice little letter asking for money, but also a lovely photograph of myself in said bus and taxi lane. I'm half tempted to pin it to the door of my house with the caption, "Beware: Criminal" to frighten off any unwanted guests. It depressed me so much that I went to Morrisons, bought (and subsequently ate in two minutes) an entire swiss roll. You'd think that after my trauma God would leave me to eat my feelings in peace, but no, I was joined by an entire secondary school Geography class wanting me to fill out a questionnaire about Guiseley and the surrounding environment. I told them I didn't live here and could they please leave me alone to cry into my swiss roll in peace. Thankfully, they obliged, although I'm sure one of them made some kind of snide remark about my walkman as they did so... I almost went and bought another swiss roll, but seeing as I had a motoring offence fine to pay I decided my money would be better saved than spent.