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.