Dentist

I went to the dentist today. I don't mind the dentist, and I don't understand why people are so terrified of them. Maybe it's because I didn't have any cavities or get braces or get sedated and have waking nightmares like David (see above). Sure the dentist can be a little rough with her miniature ice pick and she flosses me like a gorilla*; no harm, no foul.

The dentist office itself is exceedingly pleasant. There's a nice little waiting area with magazines fanned out so perfectly that I can't bring myself to disturb them. Every surface is pristine and gleaming with a shine that can only come from enslaved forest creatures. Even the receptionist greets me by name like an esteemed colleague. I think they may sip the laughing gas between patients.

Every hygienics office is equipped with a plush, golden leather chair and a flat screen television to distract from, or at least muffle the screams of your neighbors. This television was showing Giada on Food Network making some delicious tart, which felt like cruel and unusual punishment when I'm having my mouth gouged and prodded**. The Listerine cup had a layer of parafilm on top like a fancy hotel and the spittoon station was angled in such a way that I could rid my mouth of blood efficiently thereby reducing the chance of my hygienist realizing I need a blood transfusion and allowing me to maintain some semblance of dignity. That is, until the routine floss-related scolding. I try to defend myself, saying, "I do floss, but not usually with such vigor", which earns me no sympathy and a maternal nod. They gave me a goodie bag with a baller toothbrush  (even though she said I brush too hard and should only use an electric) and some single-serving floss packets that will never leave the bag. They didn't even hassle me to make another appointment. If there were more dentists like this the world, well, I don't think it would change anything, but it's still pleasant.

*She gorilla, me boy in chair.

**Military, take note.