Dental Torture
Went to the dentist today. There's nothing quite like going to the dentist. It's the only place where I stress out about whether or not my eyebrows have been plucked or my make-up's been applied evenly. Really, the less make-up in that place, the better. It's the only practice I get with allowing a near stranger to invade my personal space. Where else in life does someone come at you with practically a magnifying glass in hand? Frightening. And don't you just love it when they ask you all sorts of questions when you've got suction tubes and laser-scum-removers hanging out of your mouth?
Going to the dentist has always made me cringe. Is there anyone out there that really enjoys it? Except for maybe those few who come away with gleaming cavity-free reports. That should be me, actually. The last few years of my life, I've been brushing with one of those fancy electric toothbrushes that do all the work for you, and haven't had a cavity since. Wish someone would have stuck one of these in my mouth a long time ago and said, "Brush." For me the dentist chair is the equivalent of strapping me onto a rack, you know, one of those Middle Age torture-inflicting stretching boards? It's enough to frighten me into brushing my kids' teeth faithfully every night in an attempt to maybe spare them from my hatred of dentists. And I actually have relatively good teeth. I remember one year when we were kids, my brother Nathan had seven cavities, Joel had six, and I had one. It felt like I had won the lottery.
At least we've arrived somewhat with dental technology. Lasers and fast drills, along with low-radiation X-rays and composite fillings make the whole event slightly easier to swallow. Even if it's ever so slight. Now someone just needs to add a class at dental schools on how to remove tools from a patient's mouth before asking them a question.
Going to the dentist has always made me cringe. Is there anyone out there that really enjoys it? Except for maybe those few who come away with gleaming cavity-free reports. That should be me, actually. The last few years of my life, I've been brushing with one of those fancy electric toothbrushes that do all the work for you, and haven't had a cavity since. Wish someone would have stuck one of these in my mouth a long time ago and said, "Brush." For me the dentist chair is the equivalent of strapping me onto a rack, you know, one of those Middle Age torture-inflicting stretching boards? It's enough to frighten me into brushing my kids' teeth faithfully every night in an attempt to maybe spare them from my hatred of dentists. And I actually have relatively good teeth. I remember one year when we were kids, my brother Nathan had seven cavities, Joel had six, and I had one. It felt like I had won the lottery.
At least we've arrived somewhat with dental technology. Lasers and fast drills, along with low-radiation X-rays and composite fillings make the whole event slightly easier to swallow. Even if it's ever so slight. Now someone just needs to add a class at dental schools on how to remove tools from a patient's mouth before asking them a question.
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