Wisdom-less

I had to go to the dentist today.

I am going to be 30 in 9 days, not that I am counting, but I am scared of the dentist and I am technically a grown up.

I remember being a little kid and thankfully never having anything major wrong with my mouth that would prompt a fear of going to the dentist. In fact if anything it was fun because afterwards my Mum would take me to the shop to pick whatever treat I wanted- licorice wheels were my favourite. Of course I wasn't allowed them straight away.

Today I got my wisdom tooth pulled.

Right now I could cry. I really want a licorice wheel.

Husband came with me and sat nervously in the waiting room while I got a bit of me extracted. I think he was really worried for me. But since we've known I have this appointment he's been nothing but cool and nonchalant about the whole thing. He has been very re-assuring and calming.

In the car on the way back telling him about what happened in the room he had one hand over his mouth and the other on the steering wheel.

He then told me how he would take a spade to the head rather than get a tooth pulled under local anaesthetic.

He was so calm for me, knowing that if he suggested that the thought of getting a wisdom tooth pulled turned his stomach then I would be extremely freaked out about getting it pulled myself.

This is why he is my husband.

I could cry again. Going to put that down to the loss of a tooth.

Under strict instructions I am propped up in bed trying not to dribble, writing this and watching episodes of The West Wing (thank you Little B) to keep my mind off what is likely to be an uncomfortable couple of days. My mouth is still numb.

Wish me luck.

[For the record, the tooth was enormous- half the size of my own head (I know I can't believe it either) but it came out really easily and I didn't feel a thing. A decent amount of pressure on my jaw but zero pain]

Waxing- A Pubes Tale

For some reason on a fairly regular basis I subject myself to a wax. You'll have heard it before - I am a bit lazy and will go through the pain to be hair free for more than 5 minutes.

Today was one such experience with possibly the most thorough beautician I have come across yet.

I may become a regular in the vein hope that I don't have to go too frequently.

After the third application of wax it took a set of tweezers to remove the last Bastien of 7 pubes, from what had been a quiet and warm arm pit. They'd scattered in the optimistic belief that they could hide in plan sight. It was not to be.

I found myself thinking rather proudly:

"Oh just leave them. They've survived 3 applications of hot wax and vigorous yanking"

Like The Magnificent 7 they were displaying a level of determination that would see any Mexican villager doing their own rendition of Michael Jackson's Moonwalker.


Equally another thought was running through my head:

"Oh for the love of hot wax GIVE UP and leave. There is nothing left for you- everyone else has gone to the cotton strip party. JOIN THEM AND LEAVE ME"



This thought was louder than the other.

To Treat or Not to Treat

In the last 7 months I have had three "treats" and would have more however I am in a quandary. These treats have occurred in a variety of different circumstances: a post exam treat, a hen treat and finally a Girlie Escape treat. And they have manifested in the form of a full body massage.

It's quite an unusual experience if you have never had one before, as I have had three I consider myself an expert. I have tried them in Edinburgh, in Peebleshire and in the Lake District. And each of them have been an experience that I am learning from (in the way that a dog struggles to learn from the fake stick-throwing trick).

I have yet to spend a full hour in the presence of a masseuse without secretly screwing up my face. This latest experience has left me in a bit of a state and rather than walk you through the previous two - trust me that they were similar in that they also have this fake pleasure actual pain thing going on.

It was a full hour of "Oh yeah, so good this is heaven" with a serious overlay of "Oh my God. Is this woman actually trying to kill me one muscle/knot/body part at a time?!?!?!!!!!!".

This treat was on Saturday afternoon, I write this on Sunday evening and I still feel like a chicken breast that has been tenderised by a very unhappy Gordon Ramsay who has moved between using a mallet to tenderise to knuckle dusters to his teeth. A very, very unhappy Gordon Ramsay.

They say that pain is good and maybe in this particular scenario I should have assumed the foetal position in the sauna after the massage (biting my knuckle to stop crying and gently rocking back and forth). In an attempt to use a bit of heat therapy to ease the life back into my back muscles. Instead in my infinite wisdom got into a relatively cool pool and started knocking out the lengths, All 90 of them. . . maybe that is why I ache so badly.

No, I am not going to take the blame for this one, I am going to point the finger to the masseuse with a grudge. I can do that based on the fact that the previous 2 experiences were similar ( and didn't include a 1 mile swim). It seems the friendlier and more unassuming they are, the more powerful the are. They walk around the bed bare foot so you cant tell where the next strike is going to occur.

In part some of this is my own fault. She did actually give me a get out clause and I didn't take it.

"Is this pressure alright, do you want me to be more gentle or harder?"

Any sign of weakness and she was going to capitalise on it, I am convinced she could smell the fear.

"Oh that's lovely (wince). Actually if you find any knots- just go for it. Don't hold back"

Those were my actual words!


"...Don't hold back" !!!!!!!

What was I thinking?

She found what would appear to have been a tennis ball growing under my left shoulder blade. And in a display of what can only be called true professionalism, she listened to what her Client wanted. She did not hold back. If anything I think she might have been using my shoulder blade as some sort of anger management tool.

Maybe there are no such things as knots. They are the creation of an angry woman being paid to torture other women without being held to account in a court of law for physical assault.

You would think that I had learned from the first massage- please see my earlier comment about the fake stick throwing trick - they are actually nice. Its the lying down in a dark room I think. The calming music. The area around the "knot" is amazingly nice and the moments before the masseuse realises that she is dealing with a knot as opposed to actual bone is nice.

I think the next time I might opt for a facial. . .


courtesy of www.weheartit.com