This morning I had a dentist appointment. For most of you, this is no big deal. You don't get butterflies in your stomach and you don't use your mental abilities to think yourself into having a toothache. This is because you didn't have the dentist I had when I was a child.
My childhood dentist was anything but gentle. His mannerisms nor his general attitude toward his job would lead anyone into believing that he was happy with the profession he had chosen for himself. And to top it all off, he made it clear that he did not like children.
I remember him telling me that if I didn't stop crying that he would make my mom leave the room. I also remember thinking that he must have eaten raw onions for breakfast, or so his breath was telling me. When he threatened to make my mom leave the room, I wanted so badly to tell him that I wasn't crying because I was scared, I was crying because of his breakfast choice. Truth be told, I was crying for both of those reasons.
And at the end of every appointment, the dental hygienist would lead me to this particular mirror that turned into a window of sorts at the press of a button. Through the glass appeared the tooth fairy and she would say her little pre-recorded speech about taking care of your teeth. Now that I think about it, she looked very similar to Paula Deen, but with Dolly Parton's wig and Boy George's makeup. Yeah, I know, I'll give you a little time to put all of that together....
Basically, the tooth fairy after a night out with some heavy prescription drugs.
That was in no way the way I pictured the tooth fairy in my head. I always pictured a more dainty, Tinkerbell-type fairy, and the tooth fairy that stared at me through that mirror doing big, long blinks secretly freaked me out a little.
I couldn't wait to get out of there and dreaded my next appointment that would take place exactly six months following.
Thankfully, my appointment today was a lot less stressful and I didn't even shed a tear. Because you know I can shed a tear like it's no one's business.
After my x-rays, I sat in the examining room waiting for Dr. T to enter. The anticipation of it all was the worst part. I sat there long enough to start picking my fingers and managed to do sufficient damage to my cuticles before he entered.
I made it through the appointment successfully, all the while listening to Phil Collins sing "Hold On My Heart". Good ol' Phil, singing me right through my exam. The music in doctors' offices always cracks me up. I especially like it when they play classic instrumental versions of somewhat new pop music.
I mentioned to the dentist that I thought some of my gums were receding. He checked them out and agreed. The country's recession is affecting everyone and everything - even my gums. Apparently having orthodontic work (braces) as a pre-teen, along with brushing with so much force that you give yourself a triceps workout, can lead to gum recession. Back when I had braces, the only thing I worried about was what color rubber bands I was going to get at my next appointment. Little did I know my gums would have to pay for it later. In the past I've given shout outs to Dr. G, my orthodontist, for doing a miracle on a gnarly overbite. But here's what I want to say now: Hey Dr. G, you may have fixed my grill, but you jacked up my gums.
So I may need to look into having something done with the gum recession issue. And I know it's not all due to braces, but we all know it feels better having someone to blame things on.
As I was checking out and scheduling my next appointment, my main squeeze surprised me by sticking his head through the little waiting room window and told me that he's taking me to lunch. He was working nearby, it was lunch time, and he's got a wife that loves food, so it all just worked out.
A (for the most part) smooth dentist appointment, lunch with my man, and no freaky tooth fairies...
Today was a good day.
14 hours ago