DOWN IN THE MOUTH

Silly and boring subject, but I think one of life’s most miserable experiences is going to the dentist. I guess it started back when I was a kid. I had bad brushing habits, ate lots of candy, and never flossed. This lead to three years of braces. Three years of being called ‘metal mouth,’ ‘rubberband man,’ and ‘tinsel teeth.’ I feared going to the dentist or orthodontist because I…geez pardon me, I’m cracking up at David Letterman. Some lady is throwing turkeys off a building rooftop into a huge bucket of gravy. SPUH-LASH! There goes a deli platter. Too much. So anyway, I remember one appointment I had where the dental hygienist (DH) read me the riot act about my no flossing, bad brushing, bad gums, yada, yada, yada. She was steamed and took it out on my mouth. She hacked me up with that dreaded scraper-thing, and my mouth bled and hurt like a SOB. She was a beeotch, but she taught me a lesson. I made a promise to myself that from that day on, I would become very militant about my dental regimen.

It took a while but I guess it’s paid off. Today, I actually got a compliment from both the DH and the dentist. They both said I have great teeth and gums and that I obviously take care of them. I think that’s one of the nicest compliments I’ve ever gotten. I told them about how that DH scared the Shiite out of me way back when, and that even today, I get the Willies when they break out that scraper. I don’t think I’ll ever overcome my fear of that miniature Friday the 13th, Jason Vorhees-looking weapon, but I no longer fear the wielder of it.