I have escaped from the dentist! My whole face smells of rubber and has been lightly exfoliated with some kind of blackcurrant scented toothscrub and I'm not allowed to eat or drink anything for hours. Everything tastes of blood and part-metabolised terror and I feel SO ALIVE and am planning a celebratory crumpet (Ultimate Crumpet, indeed), when I am no longer nil by mouth.
If the following makes no sense, it's probably all the adrenalin ebbing out of me, I so hate the dentist. Well, I actually love Jeremy my dentist, who is calm and quiet and delicate, but I hate the whole dental scenario (like any sentient human). Today, whilst I was wearing the "trays" full of fluoride, a gross experience where I am always certain I am seconds away from drowning in my own drool, and whilst Jeremy was quietly pottering in the next room, I distracted myself from hyperventilating by taking a 'selfie' (ugh, dowager's shudder) be-trayed and drool spattered, then I became so hysterical at the hideousness of the picture I had taken I got really bad giggles and nearly ended up in serious fluoride trouble. No, I'm not showing you, you can see right up my nose, no one needs that and someone on Twitter said I should have put a NSFW warning on that neck picture, though some wrong part of me really wants to put it on Instagram tagged #thisiswhat41lookslike or similar.
I started putting foreign language wine reviews into Google Translate earlier today (I was trying to say something about some wine for a review and I know literally nothing whatsoever about wine and would rather have a cheap nasty pub G&T than even the nicest wine, which of course I would be incapable of identifying in the first place) and when the first one (from Spanish, given how much I spent on Spanish classes in my twenties, I should really be able to understand this) came out, it started: "Slightly doomed". Slightly doomed! We've all drunk that wine, haven't we. Most times I open a bottle of wine come with a bouquet of slightly doomed.
I did another one, still for actual work purposes, from Dutch this time (what, shut up, we haven't got that far in Dutch class, I can only ask you if you've ever bought anything from the small ads and tell you what you're not allowed to do at work "je mag geen foto's van naakte vrouwen aan de muur hangen", you must not place photos of naked women on the walls). That one came out:
"Open odor profile that some air may use. Discrete keys peach. Folds open in its taste after what skies"
I also liked
"Black in colour, having an oily consistency. The bouquet molds itself open and is a school of odors in itself".
Are they sure this is wine?
White thé hell
In other news, I don't know what happened at L's school today, but he has just come home and told me he needs me to buy him crispy seaweed and omega 3s and that a barbecued meat brochette is as bad as 800 cigarettes (hmm). Has catholic school been taken over by orthorexics? Hippies? #eatclean bloggers? We didn't move to Belgium for this kind of nonsense. Thankfully, he then ate a doughnut, somewhat restoring the equilibrium of the universe.
Sloe Sloe Quick Quick Sloe
In the hope of restoring the birthday penumbra spirit after today's dental downer, I am currently trying to work out what kind of cocktail I could make myself with sloe gin and well, almost nothing else, ideally without going to the supermarket, since I've been once today and it left me murderous. Anyone? The internet seems to suggest that lemon juice and sugar syrup might make it palatable...
50% Fluoride, surely
50% Firm plans for gin in a boiling hot bath (yes, my Friday night fun sounds like a 19th century attempt to induce miscarriage)