The Dental Saga Continues...

Here's one for you:  What do a Spanish lesbian hairdresser and a student dentist have in common?  Well for one, they may both be responsible for ruining my looks (whatever 'looks' I find myself still clinging vainly onto these days - what with my blatant disregard for age-appropriate apparel, my recent penchant for bright pink lipstick, and my growing collection of expensive but stained designer wear sullied from grape juice, exploded pomegranates and indelible marker).

But I digress.  Tomorrow I shall get up at the crack of dawn and begin the laborious process of journeying through the bowels of South London in order to queue up with masses of the 'great unwashed' who are also experiencing 'dental pain'.  Upon arrival I shall scout out the furthest, most uncomfortable plastic chair, slump down in it really low like an insolent teen, and gear myself up to wait out the several hours I am told it shall probably be until I am seen.  

At any rate, I'll eventually be ushered toward a scary looking chair by a scared looking student dentist who will ask MY advice on what he should do for me, before making a rash decision to get operated on right then and there in the most archaic of ways - or shuffle resignedly off and queue up again for another appointment sometime in 2010 (well it is the NHS after all).

What does all this have to do with a Spanish lesbian hairdresser you might ask?  Well I went and saw one at the weekend and after a particularly 'Edward-Scissorhands' type affair of clashing steel scissors, she stepped back to admire her handiwork and then impulsively went for my fringe one last time - ruining the sexy long Helena Christiansen look I had happening and leaving me with more of a "frenzied mother of four" fringe.

I wasn't happy.  She wasn't happy.  I still left her a big tip.  I bet I'll also thank the idiot who ruins my mouth tomorrow as well (sigh)...