Here’s the story of sock debacles, enjoyable dentists, and crusty vomit.
He assured me that hiding behind a hollow imitation wood door would be more than enough to protect him from the harmful x-rays. I mean, it’s this kind of service you just don’t get at your modern, corporate dentists, is it now? And, if you want more details, I was sat in the middle of a dilapidated old room on a 40-year-old chair with less padding than a cucumber. You might wonder, then, why I haven’t given in and opted for a more professional, corporate setup, operated by some elite institution funded by a super rich billionaire. The exact same man has been my exact same dentist in the exact same little independent dentists since I was two years old. 24 years! After that amount of time, you fall in love with the personal touch. The adorable tininess of a place run by a husband and wife. People there for the love of… dentistry, one assumes. The only thing I don’t particularly like about that place is the fact they’ve removed the magic eye poster on the ceiling and replaced it with a blinding light, but other than that…
You know, some people really hate the dentists, but I think the familiarity of it all makes it rather enjoyable. I know that makes me weird, but I’ve been doing this blog for nearly six years so if you don’t know I’m weird by now, you never will. Sure, someone scraping a finely pointed scraping thing across your teeth sounds like fingernails down a chalkboard. And sure, having someone ram a nozzle down your throat to blow air into your mouth doesn’t sound great, either. But it’s only once a year and it’s free, so sod it, scrape away. Plus, and most importantly, it’s actually the closest I come to human contact, which is nice.
Of course, I’m not going to spend this entire post talking about Mr. Hemsley and how incredibly lovely he is. Nor will I mention a women who was there speaking to him about something who, after he left, turned to the receptionist and said, “Ooh, he’s nice, isn’t he? So gorgeous and lovely!” She was about 60, but, heck, if it were I, I’d take any compliment, to be frank. I mean, it hasn’t happened yet, but fingers crossed…
No, I want to talk about something far more interesting. I want to talk to you about my nighttime preparation schedule. Until rather recently, I held the firm belief that I was perfectly normal in having one of these. But then I discovered I’m the only person who has a clock in the bathroom, despite the fact not having one in there is so illogical it makes my nose bleed. And then I discovered that there are people out there who, when they get dressed on the morning, put their socks on first! FIRST! That’s so illogical it makes my ears bleed. As you can probably imagine, my entire worldview is collapsing around me, so, after defending the bathroom clock in the weeks gone by, I now feel it is my duty to defend the nighttime preparation schedule. What? Is this not what you were expecting to be doing this weekend?
You see, I enjoy my sleep. I enjoy it a lot. I’m not a deep sleeper, but to my body’s credit, it never wakes me up. I don’t think I’ve woken up to go pee in the middle of the night since… well, ever. My body doesn’t even wake me up if it needs to vomit. No, seriously. I remember waking up when I was little, about 10, covered in dry crusty vomit. I was pooped. It was a lot of vomit. But I don’t even remember throwing up! Come to think of it, this could be a serious sleep related medical condition. Meh, I’m not complaining…
The thing is, there are many things you need to do on the morning before work that takes time. And what I do, is do them the night before. Like taking a shower. This is my nighttime preparation schedule. You don’t have one? But… but, you have a… clock, right, in the… in the bathroom? Right? No? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU! You take a different amount of time to brush your teeth every morning. If you don’t have a clock in that bathroom, one additional minute to your brushing time can make you miss that bus to work and next thing you know, you’ll be fired and eating beans out of a can under a bridge using a hobo as a bench. Do you want that? DO YOU REALLY! See! Perfectly logical!
I find some clothes in my wardrobe, I fold them all neatly and I place them on the wicker dirty clothes hamper thing we have in the bathroom. I place my flannel on the edge of the tub. I put my tweezers on the bathroom sill. So when I wake up in the morning, I have everything all ready. And if it’s winter, believe me, those clothes instead go on the radiator, a vital necessity on those cold winter mornings after spending ten minutes on the world’s coldest toilet seat. No, really.
I put by bracelet on the top of the unit in my bedroom. My bus card next to it, neatly placed. A little bit of spare change next to that. And my phone next to that. It is a rigorous order and schedule, which ensures I’m never late. Up at 7:35, yes, 35, don’t ask why. Five minutes to get out of bed to the bathroom. 20 minutes to pee and mush my face into a shape that’s actually recognisable as a face. Pyjamas off, clothes on, boom. Easy. If I had to mooch around for my clothes, I would’ve had to get up 10 minutes earlier. An extra 10 minutes in bed because of logic and order! Who’s laughing now!
Then I have 30 minutes for breakfast. Yes, it does take me that long to eat two Weetabix. 15 minutes, in the bathroom again, for tooth brushing and more face mushing. 10 minutes to straighten my hair. Then five more to pick up my bits and pieces from the unit, jacket on, head out for the bus. Easy. EASY! And still, people think I’m mad. I really don’t see why. Am I the only one not seeing why? I’ve bought myself an extra 20 minutes in bed, it’s a foolproof system! You’re the coots, not me…
I’m out at five past nine every day and I arrive at the bus stop at 10 past nine every day. On the dot. That is military precision, ladies and gentlemen. And I sit on the same seat on the same bus, unless someone has stolen it, at their peril, I may add. Same route to work. Same stop. Same walk to work. Same time for dinner every day. Same dinner every day (ham sandwiches, chocolate bar, crisps – the English usual). And I leave at exactly 12 minutes past five every day, arriving at the bus stop at exactly 18 minutes past five every day. And I get home and those bits and pieces, the bracelet and the bus card, go back in their positions on the unit. The jacket goes back on the hook. And, that night, we roll again. Now, tell me this. Who’s the crazy one here? Me, or those who don’t do this? Exactly… wha – what? No… no, not me. HAVE YOU LEARNT NOTHING TODAY!
In case you’re still wondering about the socks debacle, turns out, apparently, most women put socks on before all other clothes in the morning. I know! I KNOW! How funny is that! It’s so wrong and horribly incorrect, it’s hilarious. I think they class it as part of their underwear. As we all know, socks always go on last. Golden rule of getting changed in the morning. You stand up, take off your pyjamas and then, whilst still standing, you put on all your clothes, then you sit down and put on the socks. Otherwise, you sit, you stand, you sit, you stand. Whereas with my way, the correct way, you stand, you sit, you stand. Logic wins again. It always wins, readers. And yes, there are golden rules of getting changed.
But I assume you already figured out that I wrote them out on the computer, printed it out, laminated it and stuck it on my wall, in which case, you’re 100% correct…
English writer, mathematician, logician, Anglican deacon and photographer, Charles ‘Lewis Carroll’ Dodgson (1832-1898), once wrote: ‘”Contrariwise,” continued Tweedledee, “if it was so, it might be; and if it were so, it would be; but as it isn’t, it aint. That’s logic.”’
Peace Out :|:
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