The Wisdom of Teeth

It's twenty-seven minutes past nine at night, and I haven't eaten my tea. Usual routine dictates that by this ungodly hour I am reading with a cup of tea and thinking lovingly of supper (bagel or Ryvita?) Tonight, I have been 'networking' at a book launch, in the stiflingly hot greenhouse that is my University Art Gallery. Although glass panelling is very now, very kitsch, it is also very very hot. Seven minutes into the launch, my hair had plastered to my forehead in a style reminiscent of the good ol' comb-over. Eight minutes in and the entire wine supply (and there was a lot - I uncorked at least ten of the bottles) had gone. Simply vanished. It's a strange world when everybody is drunk and you're not. On the occasions that I decide alcohol is the drink of the devil, and I am strictly a cranberry juice girl, I end up home in bed before TV gets remotely risque. I become paranoid that the whole world is having an amazing time, whilst I am condemned to a pit of despair and loneliness. You can easily tell the designated drivers from the stag party, because the sober one hasn't got a permanent-marker moustache, nor does he blow condoms up and burst them in bouncers' faces. Nor does he pick fights, although he is expected to rescue worse-for-wear friends, when it transpires the person they chose to argue with is a black-belt with nineteen friends. All of whom sport leather jackets.

The book launch turned out to be great though. I was given a free bottle of wine, which most likely cost more than I am usually able to afford. I was also presented with a copy of the book (and I met the poet too, and she was lovely) - really, for a couple of hours baking in the unbearable humidity, I didn't do too badly. Sometimes it's worth having a different perspective to reap the benefits. If I had embraced the free wine with the gusto of everybody else, I would probably have danced, and maybe even sang and heckled, none of which are acceptable behaviours at a book launch. I like to think my preference for orange juice was mature, and decidely un-studentlike, and because I was raring to go, I met some genuinely nice, if a little tipsy, people. And they were all so cool in the most un-teenage style of the world. They were clearly all hopelessly intelligent, dressed artfully with wild hair. I lusted after many strategically positioned felt brooches, and casually expensive charm bracelets. For my part, I wish I had changed my shoes, because I don't think ripped converse with a drying muddy puddle-splatter constitutes chic.

One more think which I feel inclined to note, as I feel this is becoming less of a blog and more of a diary, is that wisdom teeth truly are the bane of my life. Apparently, my mouth cannot house four new arrivals, and so they will niggle at my gums until the dentist sees fit to remove them. I scoured the pain-relief section of Boots for something which would destroy the pain...a mallet perhaps, or a good stiff injection of Novocaine. Unfortunately, they were fresh out of mind-numbing drugs, and so the chemist recommended Bonjela, with the weariness of somebody who hates hypochondriacs (and I am the worst kind - a splinter can become swine flu in a micro-second). Needless to say, I apparently produce too much saliva, as there is no difference to the pain in my gums, yet my tonsils are pleasantly tingling. The disappointment of failed medicine grips me. Instead, I plan to eat lots of pizza, in the hope that the melted cheese will form some layer of protective coating over my teeth. Failing that, I will whine pathetically at the receptionist tomorrow, begging to see my dentist, any dentist, even the caretaker if he has a chisel handy.

So how to provide this promise of insatiable happiness? I've given myself a bit of an obstacle there, as I will just have to grin and bear the pain. At least I can now sit and drink lots of my (free) wine, and pretend that it's medicinal. I can also order my flatmate to cook for me spontaneously, with ingredients we don't have, just so he can casually purchase a bar of Galaxy when he heads to the supermarket. And best of all, I can spend lots of time in my pyjamas and think about how wise I could have been, if only my teeth would fit in my mouth.