Heidi, you have ruined...

my love life.

Well, the fact I do not have one, is beside the point. It could have been a possibility, if it wasn't for your latest efforts.

For the two people who read my blog you will know that I have a love/hate relationship with my dentist, Heidi. She is technically proficient, just personality deficient.

Today was D Day (dentist day for those who struggle with technical terms). I was on time, but nervous.

Goldilocks was in fine form. Here is a picture of her. The similarities to Barbie are incredible and very deliberate. All perky, blonde and spray tanned. She looked me up and down and said, "My, my, you are looking well, aren't you?" Well, we all know what that translates to, you are stacking on the weight girl, what a shame, you've really let yourself go.

"Right, you think so, do you? Well, let me tell you some home truths. Your latest round of surgery is not doing you any favours either, your mouth is now sitting where your nose used to be." Well, I would have said that, but she is in a position of some power, if you get my drift.

Today she was at her best, her obnoxious best. She told me I must be a Type A personality - anally retentive, uptight and a perfectionist. She forgot to mention HOSTILE! Why her diagnosis? Because I grind my teeth in my sleep. "Well, if you only realised, little Miss Sunshine, that I grind my teeth for eight weeks a year, two weeks prior, and two weeks after, my visits with you. Get the picture?" Well, I would have said that, if I didn't have a mouth full of blue plastic goo at the time.

I finally had a light bulb moment as I was gagging from the goo and she was telling me about her new eyelash extensions and latest round of liposuction. She is a cosmetic dentist. She has taken her job title literally. She is not here to make my teeth, and hence me, more attractive. I am there to generously top up her Plastic Surgery Fund at least two times a year. She does not necessarily care about the quality of my life at all. Just the regular donation I make to her cause. And to prove it, this is what she gave me and told me to wear to bed. Every single night, all night.

WARNING OBSCENE PICTURES FOLLOW - PARENTAL GUIDANCE RECOMMENDED

For my mouth, of course. Now do you get, how she has single-handedly, ruined my life? What kind of self respecting male is going to be turned on by that bedroom accessory?

And, just so I was not going to leave empty handed, and because she was feeling very generous, she gave me this.

A mould of my upper teeth. Why? What am I going to do with it, put it on my coffee table with all my other knick knacks? Admire it from afar? Spend hours playing with it? Use it as a key ring perhaps or a device to scare the neighbourhood kids?

Heidi, it's like this, patients do not expect a little take home gift other than maybe some floss and a toothbrush. I realise that when you leave the plastic surgeons they give you your sucked out fat and leftover body parts all wrapped up in a neat bow (they do you know). Dental patients, on the other hand, do not need that kind of 'buzz'. We get enough of it while we are held captive in the chair, sweetheart.

I said my goodbyes, but not before she said, "Hey, I forgot to tell you, look closely at the mould. You have the strangest shaped mouth I have ever seen. It's like a triangle, narrow at the front and really wide at the back."

"Yes, and it's all the better to eat you with Goldilocks" (wrong nursery rhyme I realise but same sentiment). Well, I would have said that, but my teeth were clenched so tight I couldn't prise them apart to get the words out.

"Great", I finally mumbled, "must go, I can feel the need for a bottle of Baileys coming on".

Ah well, I've got six months to get my self esteem back under control and just two weeks of wearing this 'new accessory' until the grinding stops...........told you, a love/hate relationship........

PS: My apologies for posting such graphic and disturbing pictures but they were necessary in order to tell my story.