Click me!
I have never understood why it is that a dentist’s propensity to chatter directly at you is almost directly proportional to the amount of stuff in your mouth and you inability to form even the most rudimentary syllables of acknowledgement. (First rule of good dental health: never disagree with a dentist, especially when they’re actively working on you).
Today, for example, I was lying on the chair, gripping onto the armrests with a strength and purpose that I did not know I possessed. The dentist was doing…something. Something horrible. I was pretty sure I would seem him calmly remove the lower half of my jaw and set it aside to give him better access to the back of my mouth. I had a Southern Plantation full of cotton in my mouth, enough Novocaine to numb a horse, and a scientific array of mirrors and lenses peering at my teeth.
At that moment the dentist chose to address me directly. ”So…how have you been?”
Internal monologue: ”Well doc, up until this moment I had been contemplating using the adrelanline pumping through my body to rip this arm rest off the chair I’m sitting in and beating you senseless.”
External dialogue: Glaaaaaagrgle.
Dentist: ”Well that’s just super. You might feel a little pinch or two here.”
Internal monologue: “I will hut you down you sick sadistic son of a—”
External dialogue: Yelp! Whimper.
I’m so glad I get to go back in two weeks. Looking forward to it.
