If you’ve ever been to the dentist and witnessed a seventeen year old girl with her head between her legs, breathing heavily into a plastic bag whilst tightly squeezing her mothers hand in the waiting room - then yes, you have seen me. 

There are two types of people in this world: those who go to the dentist, get the sticker and leave, and then myself - the girl, who just by breathing, somehow manages to get a cavity and then leaves with no sticker since being too old and embarrassed to ask for one sigh (will we ever live in a world where I can proudly strut out of the dentists, with my head held high, wearing a large sticker with a grinning crocodile and the words “I look after my teeth” printed on it in bold, without being heckled at by the local chavs smoking on the corner?)

WARNING: from past experience I feel there is some advice which must be acknowledged before your trip to the dentist:

1.  Do not bring someone along with you. ESPECIALLY someone with a beautiful jawline, perfect straight teeth, a clear complexion etc etc, unless you’re EXTREMELY comfortable around this “God-like” being. There will never be anything attractive about drooling down your chin whilst being tipped back at an 180 degree angle in order to reveal a very prominent double chin and maybe, the viewing of unpicked bogeys up your nose (gross but true)
2. NEVER, I repeat, NEVER look shocked when the dentist casually says “i’m going to drill you now”. Okay, so I admit this was my first experience of “dirty talk” and the only thing my fourteen year old self could think was “WHAT?!?!?! My mother is still in the room and those photo’s on the wall suggest you have a wife and children!!” But it is official, The dentist is the HQ of innuendos - when I got my braces taken off, the orthodontist leaned in very close and whispered “now, I’m going to show you something I don’t show a lot of people…”, the atmosphere became very tense and still as I awaited silently, We were in an open plan dentist. my mother was holding my hands and i’d only come with the intention of getting my braces off, not to ruin a marriage.. he smirked, licked his lips and showed me his teeth. All that tension for nothing, absolute let down…JOKING (I think)
3. Life lesson: if your dentist is located next to a bakery, always plan an alternative route home. It should be illegal to build an Oliver Adams bakery right outside the dentist, especially when you can smell the scent of wonderful goodness drifting through the windows of the surgery whilst you’re having a chainsaw forced down your throat. My dentist once caught me walking past his surgery, clutching a bag of sugary doughnuts ten minutes after seeing him, “I hope they’re not for you”, he called sternly, whilst I stood there quivering in fear - I mean c’mon, you have just injected, drilled and filled (no innuendo intended, i just had a bad cavity, i swear) and you expect me not to drown my sorrows and pain in self pity food?!

However, the dentist does have it’s perks. I mean, you don’t have to invest in lip fillers after your lip gets caught in the suction machine. There have been many times where i’ve witnessed the assistant wrestle with the aggressive piece of machinery so that I don’t leave the dentist looking like Fungus from Monsters Inc… And in even better news it appears that good teeth comes with age… simply because you can no longer be arsed to walk to the sweet shop and purchase some extremely sugary, tooth-decaying treats.

"School Photo’s", even just by hearing those words project across the classroom forces my hands to become clammy, my heartbeat increase a couple of beats and a shrill scream of fear eject from my mouth. As you can tell from that previous description, school photo’s unfortunately haven’t been the most pleasant experience for me…

After thirteen years in education you already know that you’ve had ANOTHER unsuccessful attempt of a school photo when your own mother, the person who is 50% of the reason as to why you look as you do, winces, I REPEAT, winces at the photo! After years and years of seeing the same mortified reaction followed by “i’ve seen better photo’s of you…” has strongly justified that I am highly un-photogenic and should probably have a five month pre-warning of “dooms day” so I can book myself into the nearest plastic surgery clinic for a face transplant.

Is there a strict agenda that the DREADED day of School Photo’s has to stick to? From past experience, it seems this agenda involves:

• EXTREMELY bad hair days which almost suggest that you haven’t brushed your hair for five years, or that you were mauled by a pack of ravenous wolves moments before the “click” of the camera
• A volcanic eruption of acne the night before which is emphasised further by the powerful flash which practically reveals your darkest secrets (hopefully it didn’t reveal that I aspired to be Katie Price when I was younger and used to stuff my vest with excessive amounts of tissue to create her “look”)
• RAIN. WHY. Why is it the day of school photo’s that the sky has a tendency to represent Niagara Falls? Why is it the day of school photo’s that the wind decides to pick up, forcing my umbrella to turn inside out and violently drag me through a muddy puddle?(Mary Poppins? I think so)  And why is it only after the school photo has been taken someone decides to tell me that my mascara has run all down my face, I have lipstick on my teeth and my hair has suddenly become a habitat for a family of birds?

After numerous school photo’s being taken, you begin to have an “idea” of what went wrong on the day. So you would think after thirteen years I would of cracked the system and achieved a semi-decent school photo where I don’t represent the modern day version of Frankenstein…

However, the day of the final showdown swung by quickly and I felt positive - there was no sign of rain. I’d spent an extra five minutes straightening my fringe and had even equipped myself with the rather large hairbrush to school - this was the day, this was it… 

Except it wasn't… Two days later I nervously typed in my code to reveal the school photo. “Tap tap tap click”, after what felt like a lifetime the page finally loaded… Would my hair be elegantly flowing over my shoulder? Would my teeth look pearly white and perfectly straight?… a HOWL of laughter erupted from my lungs as the photo was revealed - not only was a ‘MA-HOOSIVE’ spot made prominent on my cheek, i’d also had my photo taken THREE times, so the pictures reveal a gradual, slightly creepy/psychotic smile throughout the three photos (I definitely think the photographer was a strong believer in the saying “third time lucky” as she tried to capture at least ONE good photo)

So, that’s it, thirteen years of school photos and there’s still not one adorning our mantle piece. All in all, you end up with a face only your mother could love and in my circumstances even she was doubtful.

25/09/2013