Dentists and Senility

No. my dentist isn't senile. I am a little, and my parents, or more acurately my father, are definitely going that way. (is definitely going that way??)

I had a routine check up this afternoon, one I entirely forgot about (that's my senility showing) and so had to ring my parents and beg a favour. I even managed to get my dad to come and pick the monster up! The plan was that they would have him for the afternoon, I'd go to the dentist and get some housework done (ie go on bc for a while) and I'd go and pick him up when G was home from school. It sort of went right.

I hate dentists, with a passion. It's not that I'm scared of them and their evil whiney drills.. more that I hate the pictures on the ceiling, the odd language that they use to describe your teeth, always using a hushed voice, so you have to strain to hear them speaking gobbledegook! And then I heard the word.. filling. Dammit (see how I didn't say bugger? oops) Just one.. but oh my word, the pain.

Now I am a wimp. I may have had Lal with no pain relief, I can do childbirth. A hangnail just about kills me, I have to retire to my bed like a wounded 1850's heroine if I get a headache, I just about pass out at a stubbed toe.I have odd veins that know when they are about to get a blood test, and so disappear, causing the nurse to stab me more times, and for me to end up a quivering wreck on the floor. And the dentist was going to stab me with a needle, drill and then do whatever he does to put the filling in. He did. It hurt. A lot. I have a coping method for pain, concentrate on wiggling my right foot.. and just look at it wiggling. I was asked to keep it still as I wiggled too much.

I spent the rest of the afternoon with a swollen morth, looking like I'd had a stroke and dribbling. It wasn't fun. And then the phonecalls started:

Dad " Katie, your mum has gone out and left me with Alexander, does he eat raisins before or after his snack?" My dad won't call him Lally.. it's not a boys name...
Me: "No dad, the raisins ARE his snack.."
Dad: " Oh, so he wasn't supposed to eat the pumpkin stew now then?"

Phone call 2

Dad: "Katie, with this nappy thing, am I supposed to put it on under the vest?"
Me: "Would you put a disposable nappy on under the vest?"
Dad:" No.. ok"

Phone call 3
Dad: "You're right, he does keep going in the toilet. He's just put my glasses down there."
Me:" I know, that's why I told you to make sure the toilet door was shut."
Dad:" I thought you were exageratting."

Phone call 4

Dad: "Katie, what does Umm bah? mean? He keeps saying it."
Me: "Whatever he wants it to mean at that given moment. What is he doing?"
Dad: " Pointing at me and lifting his arms."
Me: "He wants to get up."

Phone call 5

Dad: "He keeps crawling away and climbing up the stairs. I haven't managed to get the nappy on. Call me back when you get this message."

I give up. The man has had 5 children. We are all grown. Apparently my mum did everything. He was only alone with him for an hour.
My nice bc relaxing afternoon was a bust, as was the cleaning. Ah well, always tomorrow!

K x x