The End of the Wor…king Week

Christmas is a time of love and niceness and other such clichés, so I am not going to make any barbs about the Mayan calendar.  Other than the title of this post.

I am sure you will all continue to sense an underlying garnish of sarcasm to my words but that is because I am British.  I can’t help it; I was born this way.  In fact, I maintain that all British people should have a sticker on their cars featuring a man with a pointy tongue spitting acid so that everybody knows a permanent sardonic tone is actually a social impairment which cannot be turned off.  But I digress.

So, in order to demonstrate some Christmas goodwill, I am going to talk to you about something which had really happened to me by the end of the working week.  That’s right: I am attempting to retract the jab in the title.  No catch.  So, here it is.  Enjoy it; it will probably never happen again:

What’s happened is that the dentist and I have pooled our wisdom and concluded my wisdom should be removed.  Wisdom tooth, that is.  As of two days ago, my first new chomper in over ten years has gone rogue and is now digging quite unpleasantly into my jaw muscle because there is no room at the metaphorical inn that is my gum.  Until its highly anticipated exile from my mouth, this enamel treachery has resulted in three dire consequences:

  1. I am now on two lots of antibiotics, one of which apparently gifts me with a spectacularly violent adverse reaction to even a drop of alcohol.  As such, I cannot break into my box of chocolate liqueurs or my birthday box of whiskies for at least another week.
  2. Conveniently, the limit to my jaw movement is just enough that I can no longer eat a Ferrero Rocher, my staple Christmas chocolate.  Late this morning, I had to actually take out a knife and cut one in half in order to make it manageable for me to eat.  It was truly a pitiful affair.
  3. The meds intermittently render my brain a squishy ball of cotton wool whilst the pain itself has nested like a warm nagging hedgehog in my left ear.

All of these problems, of course, pale in comparison to the procedure itself, which I am sure will be awash with tie-dye kittens and candy-flavoured flowers and gingerbread houses with free Wi-Fi.

Still, I have five hundred words of my Christmas carol story now on paper.  One good thing.  I fear it has deviated from the original plan insofar that I appear to have forgotten the ‘carol’ part of the task but, hey, at least it has words in it now.  Turns out I do actually have four bits and pieces to produce for the group, too, but I have until 24th January to pull it all together.  Tons of time.

Oh, wait.  Says here the Christmas thing is meant to actually make people laugh.

…Interesting.  I’ll, uh…  I’ll have to work something out for that.

Anyway!  Merry Christmas, one and all!  Drink your beverages and munch your chocolate, and think of me with my Diet Coke and pots of strawberry jelly.

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