Caroline O'Donoghue: Six thoughts on pokey browsers
Dedicated readers of this column might remember that, about seven months ago, I lost a tooth. I have now written about the tooth so much that friends-of-friends refer to me as ‘the tooth woman’, and I’m expecting a medal from the Royal Society of Dentists for educating the world on the complex and gruesome mechanics of dental implant surgery. Lockdown went into effect as I was in the middle of the aforementioned implant, which meant that I have spent the last four months with no front tooth.
I found this fun at first. The novelty has, by now, worn off. Walking around toothless with overgrown split ends (when can we cut out hair again?? When??), no bra (can’t be bothered anymore) and a burnt forehead (ran out of SPF) makes me feel less like Scout Finch and more like Charlize Theron in Monster. My boyfriend, who has been getting homemade haircuts from yours truly, has not been helping my public image. He looks like a skinhead who's been partially lobotomised, and I think we’re one more public outing away from someone asking if I need a safehouse.
