The Dental Hygienist

It was with much regret that I cancelled all future appointments with my dental hygienist. Naturally, I did this via answerphone as personal conversations with dentists scare me and I had to talk awkwardly, with my mouth wide open, so as they could recognise who I was.
I said I found the costs too expensive and I had more important bills to pay and mouths to feed – not with Coke and candy floss because that’d be insensitive.
It was easier than option 2, which was to say: “I can’t believe you charge £2 a minute to tell people how to clean teeth! Did you learn that at college – next door to the “granny sucking eggs” class and along the corridor from an “old rope sale”?”
Maybe she charges so much because she bought the reclining chair from Brighthouse and is struggling with the repayments…?
But I secretly love my dental hygienist. She is a lovely, kind, well-intentioned woman. But in truth, I wasn’t expecting the relationship to continue every 6 months for 5 years!
I’ve spent more money on her than I have on some ex-girlfriends.
I’ve done everything she’s asked: I clean with an electric toothbrush; I have a manual brush as back up, I use dental floss, a box of a thousand toothpicks from Poundland and gallons of mouthwash for when I go out and overnight. I have so many dental products, I cannot see out of my bathroom window.
I am totally fulfilling my contract.
The only things missing from my dental armoury are a reclining chair; a mirror on a stick, a large sewing needle bent by Uri Geller, a small polisher and a girlfriend with a steady hand. With these, I would have no need to visit her.
Days later and racked with guilt, I phoned to ask how the hygienist was feeling about my cancellations? The receptionist said “she was looking down in the mouth.”
Nice to know she’s carrying on as normal.


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