My dentist of indeterminate North African origin.

My sexy dentist.

She pried off my temporary crown and I yelped from not so much the pain as shock the wrenching force and - suddenly - razed tooth laid bare.

The temporary crown. The false crown.

It sat on the tip of my tongue before I spat it out upon my aquamarine bib.

She was contrite. I was OK. I said, I'm OK.

Sorry, she said. With that dark and throaty voice, the accent, yes?

The precisely not quite sure how do you say.

I suppose I love her, but she hurts me so.