Dental Hygiene Hijinx

Oh dear. I have this gigantic piece of dental architecture taking up space in my mouth. More than a bridge, it's kind of a civil works project. To floss it, I have to thread the dental floss in this stupid flexible plastic needle, shove that between the bridge and my gum, pull it through and then saw away with the floss.
Of course, I should only do this in the privacy of a small, dark, LOCKED closet for privacy sake (or, at the very least, the men's room. Same thing) but when I have half a pound of goddam burrito stuck under there, I figure "What the hell, nobody's coming by my desk, I'll just knock this out real quick and no one will ever know." No one except for the prissy Lady from all the way across the office who chose that moment to pop in and ask me something about schedules. "Oh, I'm SO sorry. Let me get back to you when I don't have a couple of feet of dental floss dangling from my mouth."

Fabulous.

It's All Relative

Teeth cleaning Thursday morning! Woo to the hoo!

Every time I go in, I have to struggle against the urge to ask my hygienist if she thinks she and I are related. She's a big, tough gal who looks like she would know her way around a beer joint, a description which covers most of my sainted mother's kith and kin. Her family, the Baldridges, ran to women who could chew up men like crushed ice, but just rolled their eyes at masculine foolishness and made babies instead.

This hygienist looks like all of them sort rolled up into one formidable package. And yet, I just can't imagine explaining to a woman who brings in carpenter tools to work on my mouth that she reminds me of the trashiest line of my white trash heritage. I mean, despite what many of my friends will be only too glad to tell you, I'm not crazy.

Tooth Time

O boy, a trip to the dentist in the middle of a Monday following a week long absence from work. What more could a high living gal like me ask for? My mouth numb and achy at the same time, with a sense that the achy part is going to win out and the valium I take to make the whole thing less anxious turning me into more of a zombie than usual. And a big chunk of change I would rather have put towards a new couch now residing in mouth. My theory with dental work is that the more it hurts, the more it costs. Doesn’t that just seem wrong? For $1,400 I want a muscular asian rentboy using his mouth to distract me from my mouth, but no such luck.

And, of course, with my mouth half-paralyzed, my entire office now wants to drop by and chat. “What’s going on with the start-up kit edit?” they ask. “Mmmbf arrmmn ooosslllh,” I reply. The odd thing is no one seems to notice. Hmmm.

My dentist is a very sweet man, with charming big brown eyes. I try to concentrate on them as he’s digging away. Have you noticed the position you achieve in the dental chair is very snuggly? You recline practically into his lap and turn your cheek into his shoulder, as if you two were about to exchange tender confessions. “Rinse and spit,” he says, but isn’t that the way most dates turn out?

Tooth Time

I spent the morning at the dentist getting a new crown. He's very sweet and complimented me afterward about being such a good patient, so calm. For a moment, I thought he was going to pat me on the head. He seemed very struck when I explained it was the Valium I had popped on the way in. Sweetie, I didn't make it through both the 70s and the 80s without learning the value of drugs. Most striking was his new assistant, a creature so nell as to make me look like a lumberjack. I kept expecting him to break into his tribute to Dame Shirley Bassey, but he must have been saving that for the after-lunch crowd.