It all seems to have got a bit giddy in Binland this week. I am blaming Christmas naturally for this, but there is other stuff which is contributing to the general merriment and emotional see-saw of the place. (I don't like roller coasters, preferring the see-saw which is much closer to the ground).
Master B and Master P, still being young enough to remember believing in Father Christmas, are getting more and more feral as the week progresses. The one thing which is hindering Master B with full on party mode is toothache. He has a wisdom tooth coming through, and rather than go to the dentist this week and have it whipped out, he has chosen to go after Christmas. And why is this? Well, it's because he's worried that the dentist might put him on antibiotics after the extraction, which will mean he can't drink over the festive period, something he has been looking forward to since August.
Now as you know, many a dentist has had intimate knowledge of my gums and teeth, and I can honestly say that the antibiotics were the least of my worries. Having suffered a dry socket on one occasion (please look this up, it's nowhere near as exciting as it sounds) I can remember very clearly sitting in my car in a state of catatonic shock waiting for the sweating to subside before I could drive. the pain knocked childbirth into a cocked hat, that's for sure.
So back to Master B and his tooth. He pulled something out of his jacket pocket on Monday and plonked it down on his desk. A small white plastic bottle, with a long narrow nozzle, apparently this was going to solve all his problems. But first of all, he had to cut the top of the nozzle off. Who would have thought that using a pair of scissors would be so difficult. Perhaps I was silly handing over my 6" blade office scissors to him, when perhaps he might have been more comfortable with the rounded blade ones, but when he finally managed to snip the end of the nozzle off, he almost lost his left eye.
He then dripped the miracle cure onto the offending tooth, thankfully on the lower set rather than upper, otherwise he would have to have done a headstand for perfect application. Anyway, duly applied, Master B marvelled at how the pain had disappeared almost immediately. At least that is what Master P and I thought he was trying to say. Unfortunately, the medicine had also dripped on his tongue and lower lip, and for the next couple of minutes Master P and I were subjected to a rather passable impersonation of Marlon Brando's Godfather.
So he has finally booked the appointment between Christmas and New Year. Talk about hedging his bets...
I'm almost on top of my Christmas preparations. If I were climbing Everest, I would be taking the flag out of my backpack, ready to unfurl it, and plant it triumphantly into the breast of a well stuffed bird. But yet again, I am only kidding myself, and will continue functioning on four hours sleep a night so that I can get things done, finally crawling up to Christmas day like one of the Walking Dead.
Mothers of the world....let's get a wriggle on....