My poor hubby. A few months ago one of his teeth dropped out at the dinner table (it's not funny... really, it's not... and is no reflection whatsoever on the state of my cooking) and every time he smiled he looked like a gangster. It was sort of scary. Anyway he finally gets around to going to the dentist where they took x-rays, moulds and measured him up for a new tooth.
For the last 4 weeks he's been putting off going back to get the thing fitted, but finally, when the dentist called him again on Friday, he arranged to go in this afternoon. Phew. At last!
Yeah, right. He turns up at the dentist only to find a man with a van there, lugging out all the furniture. Apparently the dentist is 'relocating' and this bloke is carting all their stuff to the new premises. Where's that? enquires my dh. Suddenly shifty, the bloke says he doesn't know.
Doesn't know? Doesn't know? This bloody dentist has my husband's new tooth! What the hell use is a single tooth to them? Couldn't they have passed his notes (not to mention tooth) onto another dentist before deciding to do a mid-afternoon flit?
And since when do dentists do a runner in any case?? Too weird!