A DAY AT THE DENTIST
I went to the dentist today. I even found the right one. See, when I went to the building where he was, I saw that there wasn't a dentist's office. There were two. I hadn't planned on that and I hadn't bothered to remember the name of the person who was going to poke around my mouth with sharp instruments. So back I went to my car to search through the Yellow Pages--I knew I'd brought them with me for a reason--to figure out which dentist I had an appointment with. With that accomplished, in I went. My exam was great. Dr. Emilio pronounced my mouth cavity free, bringing my lifetime cavity total to ZERO. He also said that I had about as good a set of teeth a human could have. "You're genetically gifted," was his quote. I'm thinking, "Great. Genetically gifted for one thing and it's my teeth. Thanks Mom and Dad. You couldn't give me good looks or great intelligence but you did give me teeth. How blessed am I?" But I also felt pretty good. I mean, to have the dentist almost raving about how good your teeth are is pretty uplifting. Especially when you haven't been to the dentist in at least eight years. Plus, this is Connecticut, not Alabama where the amount of teeth per capita is only slightly more than that of pro hockey players. The problem is my gums. I have gingivitis. And after they start swaying back and forth in my mouth like the shade in an open window, all of my perfect teeth will fall out in ten or fifteen years if I don't take better care of my gums. "Your teeth will never fall out because of decay," Barbara the hygienist told me. "They'll fall out because there won't be anything to hold them in your mouth." She said it's because of the acidity of my saliva (which after her picking, poking and sandblasting also had a pretty high blood count). People with cavity free teeth are very prone to gum disease. Conversely, people who've been drilled more times than Madonna need to worry little about tartar buildup and gingivitis. With that happy news, they gave me a toothbrush, some Crest "Gum Care" toothpaste, dental floss, took my insurance forms (and a $50 check to cover the deductible) and sent me on my way. Filled with fear that all my teeth would fall out of my mouth before I would get to smile for my next photograph, I immediately went out and bought four cupcakes (of course they had icing on them). Well, it was a bake sale at a thrift store right next to the dentist's office that raises money to combat cerebral palsy. And they were cupcakes. And I love cupcakes. And they were only 20 cents each. And I love cupcakes. I had decided that since the dentist's office was out that way anyway, I was going to go to the mall after my appointment. So there I was. In my car with my cupcakes driving to the mall. They wouldn't survive the trip home. In fact, they didn't survive the trip to the mall. But they sure tasted good. Of course, I'm absolutely riddled with guilt. All that talk about tartar and plaque and gingivitis and my perfect teeth falling like drops of water from an icicle and what do I do? I go out and eat four sugar filled (fat filled, too, but that's another story) cupcakes. Why not just pull them out with pliers and get it over with? When I get to the mall, there's an interview on the radio I don't want to walk out on so I stay in my car to listen. All the while I'm continuously looking at my teeth in the rear view mirror. I'm driving myself crazy. Plus, to add to my madness, my new toothbrush and box of toothpaste sit there, staring at me like gleaming demons, sent to torture me more. I look in the mirror some more. I finally decide, "screw it," and I open the toothpaste put some on the brush and... ahh! Pure periodontal pleasure. Or at least I don't feel guilty any more. But I do feel kind of stupid. I mean, there I am, in the middle of the mall parking lot, sitting in my car, brushing my teeth. What kind of kook would I look like to someone passing by? Fortunately, no one did. I made it home without further incident and I've only brushed my teeth once more since then. Which means I'd better go. It's time to floss.
Take care,
E-mail John
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