This was a great cause of amusement to my British friends who snickered in disbelief. “Why on earth would you go to another country to go to the dentist? We have perfectly good oral hygiene here!” Are you taking the fucking piss? Take a bloody look in the mirror, mate.
So I headed to Sweden in pursuit of the pearly whites. I had done my own diagnosis (Google) and come to the conclusion that my mouth was falling apart. “You don’t understand” I said severely to my long term dentist “We are dealing with disaster. I don’t care what you have to do – drill this shit like it’s a promising oil well in Texas, but I want this bitch of a mouth clean – you hear me!?” My poor dentist looked at me, frightened. “Oh, dear, this sounds serious, let’s have a look.” “Yes. But also hear this: I want you to anaesthetise as hard as you can; today, we leave nothing to chance. I don’t wanna feel my face. Or my body, if that’s within your power. Think: clubbed seal” Hmmm… Do we have a problem with the dentist, Miss Bergstrom?
Turns out, there was absolutely nothing wrong with my mouth, apart from the fact that I seemed to be a little “keen” with the ol’ toothbrush… Great, thanks, Google. To celebrate my impeccable dental hygiene, I reunited with my best girlies, many of whom I’ve known since my baby teeth (I believe deciduous teeth is the correct term). The leading lady of the night was Norna, or should we say “Dr” Norna, who is about to embark on an African adventure with her medical profession. The lady in question had organised a dinner so we could all bid her adieu – what perfect timing that I should come home now, in time to see her off! Such a lovely dinner – I miss these beauties so much over in London, and it’s always so much fun when we get together. Wine flowing like in the garden of Eden, acting as fuel during a long night in the Stockholm cold. That, and my floor length mink, which I insisted on wearing despite it not actually being that freezing (In retrospect I might have looked a bit like a mad cavewoman, trying to pull off a glam 70’s disco thing.) Also worth mentioning is the culinary expertise of these girls, I mean, wow. But I guess that’s how it goes when you get a boyfriend? Gotta learn to cook and all? Yep, I was a destitute single gal this eve, with but one accomplice in my corner.
Maybe rubbing shoulders with all these boyfriended girls will rub off on me? Now with a restored confidence in my fangs, perhaps I’ll get myself a little flirt in time for summer. Just a little something to sink my teeth into.
Bet these gifts will be useful in Africa
Dr No, at your service