Spoonful of sugar

I’M not sure what the policies of Mr Blair et al are regarding the future of the health service, but in my opinion it’s looking bright.
After relying on TV’s Dr Christian Troy for my white-coat-eye-candy needs over the last wee while, finally the checked shirt and cord-wearing fifth year medical students are showing potential.
Feeling flushed and dizzy, I left my most recent consultation, wondering if the doctor/patient rule still applied if he was a student.
But who could blame me when the questions I was being asked by this lovely, lovely man were: “Does it tingle in the morning?”, “Let’s talk about contraception” and “Squeeze me like you want to hurt me”.
I’m getting a strong premonition that if this influx of hot doctors continues, there will be a lot more patients in our waiting rooms.
The dentist I had at college had a similar problem. It was really hard to get an appointment with him because he was so popular with the ladies. With his mask on you could only see his bright blue eyes, and so he went a long way to cure my fear of going to the dentist.
It’s not really a turn on to have a really hot guy look into your mouth and tell his nurse about the state of your teeth. Especially when you threaten to faint every time you either sit down or stand up. And I don’t mean because of him.
Having a hotty dentist is a good reason to keep your mouth happy and healthy so you get one of those ‘I was a good girl for the dentist today’ stickers.
I would have to have major dental surgery and visit five other dentists to ensure my pearly whites impressed him.
That reminds me of a friend who recently hired a cleaner to sort out the ‘surface damage’ in the family home. I’m not saying that her house is untidy, it just has the lived in look most other families have. I was there before the cleaner had started and the place was spotless, so much so I thought she must have already been. I’m thinking Mrs Mop won’t know what’s hit her when the family relaxes into their old routine.
Talking of routines, I’m very suprised how well I am settling into mine as bona fide girlfriend. I’m preparing for our first official public engagement later this week — new shoes are definitely called for.
It was great to be invited to something for the first time having a partner, instead of trying to think who to take. Or worse still having to go solo.
I recently went for a night out with his friends and their girlfriends and for once didn’t feel like the spare part in the corner. There was, however, a point when I wished the floor would open up and swallow me whole. An advert for an instant chocolate drink came on the background TV.
The main character is given the choice of her ultimate fantasy — namely a room full of half naked men poolside, sprinkling rose petals and preparing to tend to her every need — or a mug of the advertised hot chocolate.
I personally would choose the fantasy but as usually happens with these unbelieveable ads, she picked the sweet treat, saying the other was merely a fantasy.
Unfortunately by this point in the evening I was quite vocal, whether through my growing confidence or just the insanely coloured alcopop I was drinking.
I asked the girlfriends, if they were given the opportunity to spend one night with their favourite celebrity would they? It was one of those hypothetical questions, but by this point I’d gone too far in their eyes and there was no going back. It was as if I’d made a really sick joke after someone had died or something.
Even the guys said they wouldn’t which was blatant lies.
My boyfriend admitted later he actually would. Ever so slightly too late for my ever decreasing confidence.
Back in the days when I was a singleton, you know, a few months ago, I worried that as soon as I found someone I’d like to ‘see what happened with’ I’d be tempted by the greener grass.
My favourite ex, the college love, has been in touch about his relationship which was going so well as it’s hit a rocky patch. If I wasn’t so happy and content in my current state I may feel differently. His girlfriend says she needs space to sort out what she was doing, in her head.
This has affected him greatly because the last time he heard ‘space’ and ‘sort my head out’ it was the last words he heard from his former girlfriend. You remember the ‘it’s not me, it’s you’ scenario I told you about last year?
I try to give him completely unbiased advice but when what you want to say isn’t what he wants to hear, you end up sounding like the jealous ex. Where in the past this might have been the case, now I just really don’t want him to get hurt, and I’m sorry to say that’s the way I can see it going.
Le coeur a ses raisons que la raison ne connaît point
The heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of Blaise Pascal