Thursday, December 3, 2009


Reasons dentists and their assistants should learn sign language, have code words, or just simply lie:

"Hey, (to the assistant) can I get some suction here? That's really a lot of blood."

"Almost done...well, not really almost done. More like, oh, I'd say 60% through the drilling." (me giving an insincere gassy pig-snout thumbs up...gassy as in laughing, NOT gassy from your rhymes with gassy, starts with "A"...OH MY GOODNESS, THAT WAS CRUDE! HOLY COW, I CAN'T BELIEVE I WROTE THAT. And yes, I could erase it, but for some reason, I don't want to.)

"Make sure she swishes her mouth out a few times. There's quite a bit of debris in there." (I guess debris is already code, but I cracked it immediately, so it's obviously not nearly sophisticated enough. FYI, debris stands for butchered gum tissue, bloody tooth shards and gobs of drool.)

Next, things that make me feel inferior and unattractive~besides my 41-year-oldedness:

Apparently, I have "restless mouth syndrome~(It resembles restless leg, but makes your dental assistant have to "babysit" your jaw while taking impressions) I guess continuing to talk and ask questions of the help~even if it IS to take their minds off the judgements rolling around in their head about the quality of your oral hygiene~isn't very conducive to a proper cement molding of your teeth and you'll have to keep doing it...over and over again, people...until you either shut up on your own, or you're compelled to shut up by having the young assistant clamp your mouth together for you. (Note to self~make sure to pluck that witch hair growing out of the chin mole next time, as that is most likely where the young assistant will place her tender hand while vising your mug.)

Another ugly...plucking pieces of cement out of my eyelashes while blinking rapidly and trying to look unconcerned, as the water sprayer went "rogue" a few times and blew chunks of~remember our new favorite~bloody debris~all over my countenance.

And lastly, smelling my own fermented breath as rubber gloved hands work feverishly to patch up decay and rot. I know. Disgusting. But let's call a spade a spade, shall we? ("Hi. My name is spade.")

In conclusion, may I just profess my undying love and feelings of great tenderness toward Dashboard Confessional~the rock group~whom I've grown to know intimately. They worked tirelessly and in synergistic harmony with nitrous oxide, making sure this was a very convincing Out Of Body Experience. It was almost on a par with vaginal exams and sausage fingered OB's on the delivery room table.

I guess I really CAN do hard things...not just EAT hard things.

(Which is kind of how this whole thing got started...)

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