Driving to work this morning, I was chewing gum because I’ve been cranky because I’m quitting smoking again. A filling fell out of a molar.

But that was okay, because I got an appointment right away at my dentist today.

But just as I was going to leave work to go to the dentist, I had to take some urgent documents to my boss, who is attending a conference at the U.N.

But that was okay, because I managed to race to the U.N., give him the documents, return to work, get my own car and make it to the dentist nearly in time.

In fact, I was 20 minutes late, but that was okay because it turned out I had to wait two hours in the waiting room.

But that was okay, because at least I got to read some magazines.

Unfortunately, there were only three magazines – some dumb society magazine about what celebrities are wearing, a financial magazine, and one about musicals.

But that was okay, because not only do I now know that Gwynneth Paltrow is unhappy with her figure, they made a musical out of “Reefer Madness” and apparently have an impressive musical about Tin-Tin showing in Belgium, I also picked up some good advice on tax evasion in Germany.

So, after two hours I went in to have the filling replaced. The assistant wanted me to decide between plastic, amalgam, gold or ceramic, the latter two which would take two visits. Decisions, decisions.

But that was okay, because as it turned out, I didn’t have to make any decision.

“Hm,” the dentist said. “Looks deep.”

“Maybe root canal,” he said.

He drilled around a little. “Yep,” he said. “Root canal. Do you want a shot?”

That was an easier decision to make. (I once had a tooth drilled without anaesthetic to see what it was like.)

It’s really amazing what they can fit into your mouth.

But that’s okay, because as he drilled and stuck oddly-shaped things into my tooth, I got to lie there and listen to the music on the radio.

Like “Mack the Knife.” And, lieing there in the dentist’s chair, with this blue latex sheet over half my face, and three pointy doo-dads stuck into my tooth, and this cold metal hook holding my mouth open, and a metal ring around my tooth anchoring down the dental dam, and various drill-bits making, alternately, sharp grinding noises and pulpier grinding noises, listening to “Mack the Knife” on the radio and now and then suffering jags of medium pain despite the shot he gave me, I couldn’t help thinking, “I’d still rather be doing this than presiding over the meeting of the parents’ association at the music school.

Which is what I’m doing tonight.