A Date With The Dentist

Going to the dentist is like sitting for an exam you didn’t study well for, praying that you’d still pass. And it doesn’t help that with Melbourne in perpetual lockdown, dental appointments had to be put on hold until the restrictions end. Whenever that is.

So when I was able to grab a spot for Raven, Jeff and me to finally have our teeth checked and cleaned last Saturday, I breathed a sigh of relief before I held my breath again worrying about the possible repercussions of the delay.

Obviously, Raven passed with flying colors. She’s only four so her teeth are as good as new. Meanwhile, I need to have a wisdom tooth removed as a precautionary measure. Other than that, I need to see the dentist again in six months. Hopefully by then, Melbourne won’t be in lockdown anymore.

For the last two days, my sister and I binge-watched the entire season of Emily in Paris on Netflix thus, the outfit inspo.

Also, for the last two days, aside from drinking cheap champagne in flute glasses and snacking on olives and generic Coles kids triangle cheese because it’s the closest we could get to living the Parisian life in the comfort of our couch, we had been reduced to talking to each other in fake, trying-hard French accent and then laughing our asses off for how silly we sound.

“It’s so burring,” I’d say just for the heck of it.

After Spanish, I reckon French is the next sexiest language. And the fact that one of the characters said that French men never get tired in bed made me jerk my head to look at my sister sitting beside me I thought I was gonna snap my neck.

“Is that true?!” I asked, my eyes wide with curiosity. She once dated a French. I needed to know.

“No!” she replied, rolling hers.

“Hmm… maybe you were with the wrong French,” I said, disappointed. “Date a Jew next time. I heard they’re really good, too.”

 

*Raven at 4 years old

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