![]() ![]() I stopped eating sweets believing these sugary delights were the cause of all my dentist’s strenuous work. You are not a girl, hm?” He seemed to know what I was not rather than what I was. I was rather surprised as I never knew babies presented their gums for dental appraisal, so I suffered the pain in the misguided belief I was somehow a grown-up. “You don’t need an injection, injections are vor babies. He took a keen interest in my teeth and spent considerable time drilling holes and filling them. “Mac, so,” he would say–or at least I thought he said–as he hurriedly propelled me into the room with a very dead handshake. When I entered his surgery (creaking bare floorboards, a former dining room, four large windows looking onto the terraced street below) I could almost hear his heels click with an Austrian formality. He wore a starched white lab coat with a blue Paisley cravat tethered around his neck. I thought he was an escaped Nazi hiding out at his practice in Edinburgh. My childhood pleasure for eating sweets was sharply curtailed by the handiwork of my dentist. ![]()
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