Can you see the fear? The fear that slowly crawls across the icy road, blue from the reflection of the clear sky tinted with a fakeness that almost goes beyond recognition of that which was made perfect at the hands of science. And the fear approaches, racing the snail, but slower than an Italian tank in reverse fleeing any sign of trouble. It raises its head and flashes a blindingly white smile, and immediately you know this fear has a good dental plan. Its head drops once more like a teenager going through puberty and it continues its slow uncoordinated march  across the road towards you.

You know the fear has come from far, its Nikes are well worn, and no matter how much continental breakfast hopping you do it keeps chasing you down, it will always be there following you, waiting in the dark to jump you in a dark alley and drop in a garbage skip with the vagrants and unwanted circus midgets. When it finally does catch up, what are you going to do? Beat it with an old and rusty iron? Throw empty Gatorade bottles at it? Blow a vuvuzela? You can’t continental breakfast hop forever. Are you going to face that fear, bare your, not such a great dental plan, teeth, put a skirt on it to show it who wears the pants in this house or are you going to roll over Beethoven and take it like a man, whimpering and curled up in the fetal position screaming “I want my mommy”. 

Somehow, someday, somewhere you will need to face those perfect teeth, those worn out Nikes, that cloud of fear and pretend it doesn’t exist.