Did I mention I went to the dentist earlier this week?

No I didn't. That in itself is somewhat amazing. I don't like going to the dentist. I dislike having fingers rammed down my throat, someone scraping at my pearly snappers and digging into my tender gums with gay abandon. Oh and the bill... I don't like the paying bit either.

In fact, somewhat like a school child I linger at the front door on dentist visit days saying things like 'I hate dentists' and 'My teeth feel fine... really'. I drag my feet all the way to the car and have to be prised out of the seat and through the dental surgery door..... which is an interesting inner conflict seeing as how I live alone and these days drive myself.

Why didn't I mention that I'd been to the dentist? Well it really wasn't that bad.

Sure the receptionist tried to make polite conversation with me... and the owner of the practice looked momentarily like he was going to try for a sunny greeting ( my death mask stare stopped that line of thought). But, on the whole, not worth mentioning. At all.