|Isn't she something?|
That sounds a whole lot more interesting than - darn those old crowns (as in dental covers). I will admit to avoiding the dentist like the plague, even though I am very fond of the hygienist who makes my teeth feel all squeaky-clean. It's just that, every visit seems to bring dire news. Those aging tiaras need replacing and they ain't cheap. My dentist is a tiny, bustling Russian woman who I like in spite of the fact that she is also my dentist - therefore bearer of bad news.
As I lay dozing in their comfy chair, listening to the heavily accented, 'tut-tut-ing' and 'ah, yes, I see that', and 'we will have to...', 'we must...' being volleyed between dentist and hygienist, I managed to weakly interject -
"Pick the most worst thing. You've got one shot for the indefinite future."
There was a momentary pause. I could almost hear the wheels turning. There were a few more 'tuts' and some whispered conversation, but we managed to come up with a plan. It involved the Queen Mother of my crowns. The younger sovereigns will have to wait.