Dental Torture

Nasty little things, these flossing brushes, more at home in a doll's house chimney than in my mouth. They are nearly impossible to insert between my crowded teeth and the devil's own job to extract. Because of owning up to my nice lady dentist this morning that I committed the sin to beat all sins of not flossing my teeth more than twice a year before I visit her, I have been summoned to the dental hygienist to be taught a lesson.

I imagine a dental hygienist is to teeth what a physiotherapist is to muscles and tendons, leaving me extremely apprehensive, a state of mind made worse by my young dentist saying I could ask the hygienist to use a desensitising toothpaste to lessen any discomfort. Whaaaaat?

To add to my apprehension, I don't for a moment think this torture will come free, gratis and for nothing on the dear old NHS. No, I will have to shovel out shekels for the experience. My children's inheritance is at stake.