squeaky clean

Yesterday I had my semi-annual dentist visit. I love my dentist office. I always have the same hygienist, Robin, who insists on telling me I have beautiful teeth. “If more people took care of their teeth like you do, I’d be out of a job.” She’s precious. And she always asks me about theatre. What shows are going on, what role I’m playing, would it be appropriate for so-n-so’s grand kids to see? However, while I love her chit-chat, I must say it’s a bit difficult for me to return the conversation when her hands are in my mouth! I mean, yes, that’s her job – to get in there and clean my teeth and make sure all my pearly whites are super healthy…but don’t ask me questions when you know I can’t talk! Also, have you ever noticed that when the hygienist is flossing your teeth, she (yes, she – have YOU ever met a male dental hygienist?) rests her hands on your face and pushes off on your chin/nose/cheeks for leverage. That’s just weird. And then your face is all powdery from the latex gloves. Eew.

While I understand that going to the dentist is no one’s favorite thing to do, I hate it for a different reason. I don’t mind the poking and prodding, the pushing off my chin to floss my teeth, the long waits, or the suction tube thingy that they stick in your face…I hate not knowing where to look. If you look straight up, the light is in your face and your eyes start watering. If you look to the left, it’s like you’re being rude and looking away. But if you look to your right, there are boobs in your face! And you certainly can’t make eye contact with the person who has their hands and several utensils stuffed in your pie hole…that’d just be awkward. Can you close your eyes? Seriously…what’s the etiquette there?

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