Mummyfried

I am gearing up for some impending dental drama next week. I am facing the reality of not one but five fillings and cannot help but feel fear. Plain, clear, unmanageable fear.  The search for an appropriate dentist is harder than finding a 50-something single, unscarred man. Unlike dating, (where you just don't have to do it), I have to continue with dental treatment, all the while trying to find the one. THE ONE PERFECT DENTIST. The appointments next week are mercifully broken into two sessions. The urgent fixes followed by the not so urgent. In preparation for next week, I came clean with my dental phobia. The poor dentist allocated to me is now privy to my irrational fear of dental work, a revelation that will earn me a starring role in daily water-cooler conversations. Back in the day, before my move to Greece, I used to frequent a dentist who specialised in treating children. He had two adult patients. Mummyfried, any dentist's dream patient - and my friend who referred me