I was at the dentist’s, because that’s where I always am at the moment, lying there, mouth full of stuff, thinking: “This is just a phase and not the new normal.” The conversation is one-sided by necessity, which is the only saving grace of being there at all, that window into a world where I’m not constantly talking and get to find out what other people are interested in for a change. No, there’s one other saving grace: I still have teeth.
And maybe it’s part of the training, or maybe he’s just a very cheerful guy, but the dentist is an enthusiast. He loves all the seasons and the way a composite filling can stave off recession around the upper canines. He loves tea, coffee, red wine and turmeric; he loves fizzy drinks of all kinds, as a relatable prelude to the news that I have to stop consuming them. It would be hard to be warned off those things by someone who didn’t understand how nice they were. He determinedly never talks about the events of the world, but he doesn’t like a lot of silence, either, and that’s how we landed on the topic of the time he bought a Ferrari.
