I was minding my own business, eating Vegemite toast, when the brace on the back of my front teeth snapped.
Hurrah, I thought, there’s another freaking expensive bill to add to all the other freaking expensive bills that never stop piling up.
My local NIB dental care centre told me it didn’t have the required specialist care to fix it and directed me to the city office instead. Sigh.
I went to the train station and discovered the only Opal ticket dispensing machine was broken. (I don’t – gasp – have an Opal card.) What stupid transport system only has one ticket machine at a station and no back up? Opal.
So I slumped through the (fortunately) open disabled gate and headed to Wynyard to throw myself ticketless on the mercy of the staff. Thankfully they believed the harried middle-aged woman’s story and let me through.
The dentist in the city was most surprised that I’d been told I needed to get my brace fixed there as it’s apparently a very simple procedure that any old tooth expert could perform. There’s two hours of my working life I’ll never get back. Grrrrr.
She also told me I wasn’t allowed to bite things with my front teeth anymore. Hello? So I have to cut up apples and pizzas moving forward then, like some toothless granny in an old people’s home? Yep.
The only bright spot: glueing my brace back in place was FREE! God bless you NIB.
Note: I’ve had a permanent brace since I was 16. After years of sporting a mouthful of metal to try and stop my teeth Chad Morgan-ing, my orthodondist decided to try a new procedure he’d seen at an overseas conference and glued a permanent brace to my front four teeth. My tongue has been pressed against that metal wire ever since. Dr Cerny has long retired, which is SO weird because I remember him as a boyish figure who was a bit of a hottie… and now he’s a pensioner. I also remember thinking he’d named his daughters – Zephyr, Mercedes and Portia – after cars, which seemed a bit odd at the time. Kinda like when my boss’ son came to the office a few weeks ago and Gaye on the front desk said “Hi! I’m Gaye!” He shuffled nervously into his mum’s office and said “The lady on the front desk is a bit weird – I said hello to her and she told me she’s gay.”
I’d been hoping to soothe my frazzled nerves last night in DD’s arms, but he’s on dad duty. A lightning strike cut the wi-fi at his kids’ other abode so they’ve decamped to his place indefinitely. He loves getting bonus time with them under his roof.
None of my school mum mates were available for a walk to help me de-stress, which left me to pout alone for the night and try not to grit my teeth in frustration lest they pack it in again. (I mentioned to the dentist that I’m having tooth sensitivity and she suggesred it was because I’n wearing my enamel thin from grinding. I refrained from mentioning the stress my parlous financial state is giving me as I stared down the dental chair at my disintegrating pleather shoes.)
Poor, grumpy me. Must try to recapture the gratefulness from yesterday’s blog for having such a fortunate life …
Song of the day: Oasis “Don’t look back in anger”