Where I bolted to the bus stop still wearing the dentist's bib

One of the things I dread most in this world is a visit to the dentist.  The Husband says I am a wimp of World Class standard and I cannot pretend to be otherwise. I've had this fear since childhood when my dentist, who I believe fancied himself as being in the oil business, drilled merrily away as it speculating in Texas during the boom.   

He was a portly chap, had fingers like bunches of bananas and wore an apron which I had also seen being modelled by our family butcher, not a good sign. Once, after losing my nerve at the last minute, I even bolted through the waiting room and was still wearing  the bib still around my neck when I reached the bus stop and my getaway on the Number 49.

In order to get me to 'the chair' on one occasion, my mother and Granny conspired to bribe me with a bottle Rimmel's scarlet  nail varnish which I had coveted for weeks, since seeing it in the local chemist's.  I was told I could wear this marvellously trashy colour if I had this little 'itty bitty' tooth out. Boy did they knew how to negotiate a deal!  I still sweat when I see red nail varnish today.  The other odd thing was that any one coming from the dentist always wore a scarf, you never see that now. My Mum says it was to keep the cold air away from the gums but I think it was more likely to cover up the gore.

Any way, should I survive today's examination by my gentle and patient dentist I will tell you about my progress with "The Pearls" next week.