Yesterday I had the most expensive chocolate biscuit cake in the world. Yes you read that correctly. It cost €800. I’ll do the maths for you, that is $880.82 American dollars £563.83 pounds sterling and a whopping $1,205.53 Australian dollars!
Was it delicious? No
Was I out to lunch with a sugar daddy milliionaire in a six star hotel? No.
The sad reality is I was out to lunch with three friends in a local pub when I bit into the cake and quickly realised I’d crunched on a stone.
‘Jesus’ I thought, ‘what the hell have they dropped in this cake?’
I ran my tongue around my mouth but couldn’t find anything.
‘Weird’, I thought and cautiously continued to eat until I felt a sharp rip on my tongue. I ran my tongue against the sharp ragged object only to discover it was my tooth, or in reality, half my tooth. I moved my tongue away, then carefully checked again. Yep I was definitely missing half a tooth.
My ever observant caring friends hadn’t even come up for air in their conversation, nor had they noticed my absence from it. I checked again.
‘Feck, I’ve eaten my tooth’.
‘What?’ asked my friend, as I realised I had spoken aloud.
‘I broke my tooth’
‘Where is it?‘ she asked.
‘I’ve eaten it’ I sheepishly replied.
Now I can safely say I had the attention of the whole table.
‘Show me’, asked my friend.
‘There’ I said, showing her the tooth.
‘Where?’ she asked, and my heart soared. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. I mean if she couldn’t even see it perhaps it was magnified in my mouth. With hope in my heart I decided to leave quickly and contact the dentist.
On arriving into my car I hurriedly checked my tooth in the mirror. OMG the horror. There was a massive gap where half the side of my tooth was missing. Through the gap I could see the remainder. It was gross, large and black. How could my friend not have seen this? She needs an urgent appointment with specsavers. I on the other hand now looked like I could be a contestant on the Jeremy kyle show, as I had always wondered at the number of guests he has on with black or missing teeth.
‘Right, well I’m afraid it’s too big to refill and rebuild. We’re looking at a crown here’.
‘Okay, how much would that be?’ I ask politely, innocent to what is about to come.
Now I live in Cork and over the past twenty five years here I’ve developed it’s sing song accent. However when upset, mad or in shock, as in this case, I return to my default Dublin accent.
‘Jaysus!’ I roared, ‘€800!’
There was silence from perfect dental smile, as I think my change of accent had shook her.
‘Cryist!’ I continued still broadly Dublin. (For someone with no religious beliefs, Jesus, Mary and Joseph along with Cryist, and Jaysus figure strongly in times of Dublin accent)
Perfect dental smile recovered somewhat and began to sympathise. She kindly explained the procedure, reassuring me I could pay in installments.
As she spoke I could be heard repeating over and over, €800 in many different tones.
€800 (almost crying)
€800 (We’ll never holiday again)
€800 (shaking my head)
Eventualy she said we’d patch it up today and make an appointment for a few weeks time. Ten minutes later I walked out the front door in a daze.
Arriving home I went to the mirror and looked at my teeth. How much money was I looking at if that gammy tooth was €800. I mean the front ones were nice and white and I’d always liked them, how much were they worth? Could I afford to ever eat again in case I damaged them.
Buy a real crown with diamonds in it.
Fly to Australia and back.
Fly the whole family back to Portugal.
Fly to New York and have spending money.
Drink wine freely for a year, okay maybe just six months.
I then had the pleasure of A. telling my ever caring family that I’d eaten half my tooth and B. telling them the cost of fixing it. I can tell you all, they had minimal sympathy with me and when they heard the cost of repair I could see some of them wondering if it was worth it? Maybe just take my tooth out? Thankfully no one was brave enough to say it.
It is now a full twenty four hours later and I think I have begun to develop post traumatic stress disorder. As I eat, drink or even just breathe I stop in fright and imagine I’ve broken another tooth. With the fear of God in me (there is religion poppin in again), my heart racing, I tentatively check my teeth with my tongue only to discover it’s a false alarm. I’m telling you, I’m losing pounds, as after I recover from my fright I’m not too keen to continue eating.
A good friend has recommended I get a second opinion and I’ve an appointment made for ten days time. I’ve also enlisted the combined knowledge of a wonderful facebook group of bloggers called the Irish Parenting Bloggers who have furnished me with many choices, including travelling to Europe or Northern Ireland, yes that is cheaper than walking half a mile down the road!
So who knows where this tooth of mine will bring me, but keep an eye out, for if I’ve to pay €800 I’m not sure which child I’ll have to sell.