I have too many teeth. They are having to come up with new names for my extra teeth because of the sheer quantity of them. I’m convinced the dentists are planning to make money off me by getting sponsors to sponsor my abundance of extra teeth. In a commercialized world, it’s hardly surprising. “Well, okay”, the dentists say, “instead of ‘Molar 5’, what about ‘Molar Pepsi Lite’? We’ll make millions of moolah off this kid!” It won’t stop with teeth, oh no. I have it on good authority that Disney will finally get their way when the next new planet is discovered. Then, just then, maybe my mouth with more teeth than a Florida retirement home won’t seem so bad.
It’s almost as if a scratchy face from a hailstorm and a cut hand from a blind cord last week weren’t bad enough. Now I have to contend with another new tooth. This tooth marks my TENTH in as many years. And I’m not supposed to have them. I have TEN extra teeth. I’m a mutant! I’m hideous. My gum is sore. It really hurts. I can’t eat anything, and I think not being able to eat anything because of a tooth is somewhat hypocritical on the tooth’s part. Surely it can’t be aesthetic. Surely my body can’t be thinking ‘oh, a new tooth over there, and maybe a hanging basket with some geraniums next to it’. No wonder two year olds cry so much. It’s painful. I feel like doing something to cheer myself up. Hmm. Perhaps dancing to Gloria Gaynor’s ‘I Will Survive’ while eating a tub of alcoholic ice cream with a ladle.
I was at a store this week called Currys. For those of you outside of the UK, it’s an electronics store that we have here. Can be a bit misleading for tourists. “Oh, I’m sorry to bother you sir, but I broke my camera and I need a new one”, says a tourist to a stranger. “Ah, well now, what you need is Currys”. “No, I’m not hungry”, says the tourist.
I remember going there last year to get my dad a laptop. The last thing I expected was to meet one very friendly dude. Once in a while, he dropped lines into the conversation such as ‘you’ve got beautiful eyes’, ‘I love your hair’ (who wouldn’t, it’s radical), and preceded to touch my shoulder tenderly. I have nothing against very friendly men, so to speak, and I thoroughly encourage equality and tolerance, but is it really so much to ask for some guy not to come onto me? I suppose it’s my fault for being so sexy (cough, splutter, choke).
Thankfully, the same did not happen this week. I was out looking for a new laptop after gravity murdered my old one. Still don’t have one. I’ve had to resort to using a nine year old computer, which is basically a large box held together with some tape. It’s not ideal. In fact, it’s far from ideal. It’s a very painful reminder of 2003. Jeez. Nearly a decade ago. Golly, how time flies. I can’t remember what I was doing in 2003. Probably causing mischief. I did that a lot in secondary school. Hardly my fault the yogurt flew out of my hand and splattered against the window of the head teacher’s office. Once again, gravities fault. Why do people keep blaming me?
I’m not like that now. I’m an absolute angel. I spend my time these days flicking a light switch on and off with a two year old, him switching it on, me switching it off. Yes, that was another highlight of my week. He was loving it. I’ve never heard him laugh so much. As you can tell, my life is incredibly interesting. It’s good to see not much has changed in 50 posts.
Of course, it wouldn’t be a week in the life of Ally without another injury. I was getting a box out of the attic (full of toy cars, no less, for the baby, and, it’s important to stress, the box did weigh many tens of pounds), and it fell on me. You can imagine how ill I felt to look down at an arm coated with blood (slight exaggeration). I think it’s fair to say I’m not having a great few weeks. Oh, I’ve just seen it again. It was just loads of small cuts. Looks like carpet burn but is much worse. And there’s several huge lines on my arm where it nipped and pushed me as I went hurtling down the ladders. Dad always said to me that I needed someone in my life to take care of me. I’m beginning to think he might have meant a nurse.
Despite this rather hellish week and a cold I haven’t mentioned (I didn’t want to worry you), I hit a big milestone this week. 50 posts. For a once weekly blog, I feel that’s a rather big achievement. 50 weeks of talking about the colourful tedium of nothingness. A.K.A my life. I’ve had fun. I’m not sure about you, though. I hope so. That or boredom. I’m delighted with either. Onto the next 50. Oh boy. By the time I hit 100 posts, I’ll be 24. Nearly a quarter of a century old. Twenty-four. Sympathy? Nobody? Huh. Not even an ironic pat on the back? No? Oh. Ah well.
“Gravity is a contributing factor in nearly 73 percent of all accidents involving falling objects”, said the great American author and columnist David ‘Dave’ Barry.
Peace Out :|:
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