"Cheese!"

We all grow up with some level of fear of dentists. But this particular fear is truly unfounded until you have visited a dentist in the United States of America.



Anyone who finds themselves in this nation of blindingly white, unfalteringly straight, teeth may feel the urge to never again open one's mouth to reveal anything less than perfection.

I have always admired the American smile but had no idea of the physical anguish inflicted on these poor people until I had the misfortune to spend an hour in an American dentist's chair.



Everything seemed innocent enough on arrival for my first "check-up". Friendly receptionist, scrupulously clean surgery, tasteful and relaxing music tinkling in the background, bright shiny dentist tools, delightful disinfectant smell, glossy magazine to read while waiting for sparkly smiley dentist to come in...



This white coated parody drifted around on a cloud of clean and spoke very gently and smiled often, flashing his pearly whites at me as frequently as possible between syllables. He deftly lulled me in to a sense of security and subtly developed my longing for brighter and whiter as he gently tilted his chair back to commence my "cleaning."



Now a cleaning at the dentist in England or maybe France (home of the cavity) is a lovely experience with a high powered spinning brush and a bunch of foamy stuff. So I closed my eyes in anticipation as he said "open wide"...



And in that moment my dreams of a smile that blinded faded off in to the spit bowl.



You see, in America a cleaning involves the use of a pneumatic drill and an ice pick. I kid not. They actually drill the plaque and some of the unsightly yellow enamel off your offending little european toothie-pegs. But it doesn't stop there!



Having slashed your gums and revealed every nerve ending in your poor decaying mouth they then spray huge volumes of ice cold water over your gob then, just as you're certain you're going to drown, they suck it, and your tongue, out with a vacuum that resembles a plumbing router. Only then do they start with the swirly brushy thingy and the toothpaste that now stings so terribly you feel tingly clean for a fortnight. Before you can say "Bob's your Uncle" you find yourself shoved neatly out the door with a list as long as your leg on how to take better care of your smile, and a tool box for home maintenance.



Imagine how terrified I was to go to my first gynaecological appointment this side of the pond!