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"Originality is the fine art of remembering what you hear,
but forgetting where you heard it."
-Laurence J. Peter
This column may be downloaded free of cost for private use.
Only in case of publication is modest compensation required.
Please contact Conrad.
"Read not to contradict and confute,
nor to believe and take for granted, nor to find talk and discourse, but to weigh and consider."
-Francis Bacon
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Have you ever looked in a mirror and said to yourself: "You look awful!"? I have!
I may not be bald and green like Shrek, but my looks have definitely
deteriorated enough over the past few years for me to think I look like him.
There was a time when the mirror showed me the image
of an energetic young man, European clothing size 48 / 50. Now it shows me a tired 40-odd year old,
size 58 (or worse, special size 28 - sometimes called a "belly size"). My forehead used to be a lot
smaller - or rather, I didnīt have a receding hairline. But now I do. I had dark brown hair.
I still do, but here and there it seems to be loosing the battle with the grey hair.
There was a time that people thought I looked good. (In fact, there was a time when I thought so
myself.) Our wedding photographer certainly did. It probably
wasnīt just because of me, for my wife looked especially attractive at our wedding, but he thought our
wedding pictures were very good, and he had enlargements of them in his shop window for months!
But then came children, worries, concerns, stress, comfort foods, age. You know what I mean.
And the image in the mirror started to look a lot worse.
And I havenīt even mentioned what I saw when I weighed myself.
But the final straw was the dentist. Actually, it began at the bakery. The trouble with the local bakery is
that the place smells so good. And they have these attractive-looking loaves of bread. And delicious
French bread. One day, not so long ago, the French bread smelled and looked particularly good. I took a loaf
home and decided to combine it with some soup, for a simple but very nice meal. I took a bite, and ...
you guessed it. Conrad was still there, but minus one crown from his front teeth. Normally that wouldnīt
be a problem. You would go to the dentist. He (or, in this case, she) would order a new one.
Would fit a temporary crown. And off you would go, without a big hole in your front teeth.
But thatīs about how long the normal situation lasted. The next day the temporary crown was missing as well.
Oh, I still had it - in a small plastic bag, on my way to the dentist. And no, I hadn't been careless.
I had treated myself like a child with hardly any teeth at all, cutting my bread into tiny pieces and all.
And still that temporary crown just gave up and let go. The dentist was ill,
but her replacement was so kind as to put the temporary crown back.
Problem solved. Or so I thought. But no such luck. The next day, the same thing happened.
This time, the dentist who had put back my temporary crown the previous day didnīt think that trying again
would solve anything. "Youīre just going to have to wait for the permanent crown, sir", was her verdict.
Now, that would seem perfectly allright, wouldnīt it? But thereīs something you donīt know. Two things,
actually. First of all, my own dentist has a part-time job. I didnīt know that at first, but found out
the first time I made a return appointment. Even a simple, short appointment took weeks to make.
But thereīs more: my dentist hasnīt made any provisions in her diary for longer treatments
that need to be carried out on the short term. Making an appointment for treatment of over thirty minutes,
takes you into the next month - or worse. Which means, in this case, that I have to wait for two months
(!) before getting the big hole in my front teeth filled with a crown again.
When that information was still fresh, I went home, ate, and went to brush my teeth. And there I was.
Okay, I already knew I was overweight. I already knew I had a receding hairline. I already knew my face
looked tired, and much older than it should. But now there was that enormous hole. A hole that kept making
my eldest son laugh at me. A hole that made me look like I was ... well, like Shrek. In fact, I think
I look worse than Shrek! At least he has a full set of teeth. I may not be bald and green,
but at least Shrek can smile without feeling embarrassed.
I know many people think itīs okay for a man my age to be somewhat overweight. I know itīs normal not
to look really young. I know a receding hairline is to be expected. But does this modern society really
need dentists so badly that we have to recruit part-timers? Drag mothers from their homes to treat peopleīs
teeth a few days a week, several days a month?
And, worst of all, make them wait for ages before we make them look less ridiculous?!!??
I didnīt think so when I watched Shrek with my kids, but now I think that heīs lucky.
Unbelievable, but true.
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Disclaimer
This column is only for the purpose of entertaining, educating or
giving food for thought. Any persons, characters, countries, institutions or groups
mentioned are - as a matter of principle - fictional: any resemblance to existing ones is
purely by chance. ;-)
If the content of this column offends anyone, please accept the
columnist's apologies: no offense was intended.
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column noun
1a: a vertical arrangement of items on a page
b: a vertical section of a printed page
c: an accumulation arranged vertically
d: a department or feature (as of humor, sports,
literary reviewing, or gossip) in a newspaper or periodical, under a permanent
title and generally reflecting the writer's individual tastes and point of view.
2: a supporting pillar
3: a form, structure, or formation shaped like a column
(Webster's Dictionary.)
The movie:
Shrek
the video
Shrek
the dvd
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