Smile, you are not in Paris

I avoided a lot of the summer last year by jumping on a plane to Paris. Very tres chic of me however it was the coldest I think I have ever been. Now that the Melbourne air is hot and breathless I'm wanting to recall that cold fresh slap in the face of minus 4 degrees that you get from a European sidewalk where the freshly washed streets are frozen with ice and you try not to land on your backside. As I write this I feel the pain from a screaming front tooth that's badly in need of a root canal as my self administered drugs are beginning to wear off. For the cost of a plane ticket to you know where my tooth will be fixed and so will my passport be in the bottom drawer for another year. Toothless in Paris was never a title for a great movie so I will be opting for the dentist chair on Monday morning. Well and truly over the fear of the dentist having had so many things go wrong with my teeth I now no longer reach over the back of the chair for his throat and scream for Novocaine. In fact I believe my teeth have been most generous and paid for his marriage, put his kids through school, come through with some great family holidays and in fact if you look closely, the back of the dentist chair has a gold plaque reading 'this chair was brought to you by ....' and there sits my name. It's a pity there are no frequent flyer points for dentist visits because I could be warming myself in front of a nice handbag counter at Galleries Lafayette right now. Cest La Vie