Dress Code For An Hygienist Date





This little passageway always looks inviting, with lots of hanging baskets - by summer, blooms will be spilling out all over the passage.  It lures me, like a siren.
But it belies what is within ...

My dentist's surgery!

How many times I must have walked along this passageway in the 40 years I've been a patient?  And I've Walked The Passageway all those years because, in my view, this is the island's (and possibly the world's) bestest dental surgery and is staffed by the kindest, professionalest and sympatheticalest people (some new words for you, spellcheck!)

But, I must fess up - I am a bit of a baby when it comes to visiting the hygienist.

And, oh joy, yesterday was one such visit.

Yet, I survived - I always do!  And I feel such a Big Girl afterwards.  I want to celebrate my being so brave. 

So I did.  I celebrated in our department store, Creaseys, conveniently placed just a few doors down from the surgery ... co-incidence?  Or clever market positioning? 

I treated myself to a few goodies then allowed myself to linger awhile on the way back to the car, taking in the morning's glory ...

A monument to Victor Hugo who lived in exile on the island for 15 years, during which time he wrote many novels, including Les Miserables.  His house is now owned by The City of Paris and is open to the public.  It is an A M A Z I N G experience - if you're visiting do take a peek, see here for details.

Oops.  Nope.  That's not Vic.  He's up at Candie Gardens.  This is Prince Albert, Queen Victoria's bloke. That is why the pier where this monument is and where I was parked  is called the Albert Pier.  Oh silly, silly me.

But on the positive side, I have now told you about the wonderful VH house.  

You're welcome!

One of our visitors' marinas, pretty empty at this time of year - it will be pretty chocka by next month.

One of our locals' marinas - not short of a boat or two!



Well, what does a girl wear for an hygienist date? Has the world gone that crazy that there is a dress code for it?  I'm hoping not!

Anyway, clearly my mind was elsewhere; focus was not on outfit selection as I seem to have distractedly thrown on a Woolovers cashmere/merino V-neck and jeans.  

Dress code: comfort.  End of.  Fin. Slut.

In the pic, I'm tearing my hair out in fear and looking none too happy.  Would you be?

Do you fear a trip to the hygienist?

A la perchoine.