So I went to the dentist. It’s been about a decade since my last appointment, and I figured I should see a tooth person after discovering a pussing sore in my mouth. Pus… IN MY MOUTH! Which, it turns out, can just happen with no apparent cause. (Though I have decided to eat less sharp food.)
Going to the dentist has changed a lot since I was a kid. For instance, they now frown upon me playing with the toys in the waiting area. I’m sorry, I thought fun was for every age!
They have also gotten a bit more chiding about that whole flossing thing.
One thing doesn’t change though, a dentist will always talk about themselves until their hands are in your mouth. Then they will ask a question. I can’t help but think they teach it in dentistry school. I used to think it was just carelessness but after having my dentist, orthodontist, another dentist, and every dental hygienist between them do it, I have to assume they teach it. Maybe it’s a power thing. The power to ask a question and then watch the patient squirm in the awkward silence. I bet they all laugh about it at dental conventions — which are apparently a big deal. They all get together and say things like, “The other day, with my hand buried deep in a guy’s mouth…” It’s probably an entire genre of joke for them. Just like how everyone else tells jokes about people, animals, religious figures walking into a bar.
I, also, apparently have sensitive gums. A fact I didn’t realize until the hygienist began poking my gums with a razor sharp needle. She jammed it in like a fat man digging his fork into a raw steak, and when I jerked away she said, “You have sensitive gums.” Yes, I suppose my gums are very sensitive to shankings. I don’t think flossing will fix that.
I would have raised that objection, but her hands were still in my mouth.