Friday, December 10, 2004

dental hygiene is hard

I went to the dentist today. I hate going to the dentist. It's almost as invasive as going to the OB/GYN, except at the dentist office you at least get to keep your clothes on. I hope. If you're going to a dentist who makes you take off your clothes for an exam, I hate to tell you this, but that guy probably isn't a real dentist.

I've been going to the same dentist since I started growing teeth. His name is Dr. Grabman. He's probably one of the nicest men I've ever met, which makes me wonder why he'd want to inflict pain upon so many helpless people. Not that he brings the pain when I visit. The only time he's ever done anything painful to me was when I was six and had to get four teeth pulled and even then my entire face was numb and I had my Theodore the chipmunk doll so I was OK.

A few years ago, Dr. Grabman moved his practice into a newer, nicer facility. There are televisions in all the exam rooms. I was pleasantly surprised that the TV in the lobby was playing Ferris Bueller's Day Off. Unfortunately, when I got back to my exam room, the TV was on the Weather Channel. Not to worry, though, because a few minutes later the dental hygienist (who I will be calling . . . Bernice) changed the channel because gasp Oprah was on! Now, I can pretty much take or leave Oprah. I don't hate her but I don't particularly like her show that much. I'll watch it if I happen to flip past it while channel surfing and the subject looks interesting, but I don't normally watch it. Today, though, Oprah was interviewing . . . wait for it, Gwyneth Paltrow. About her BRAND NEW baby. You know, it's great that these actresses are happy being new mothers and everything, but do we have to hear EVERY GODDAMN DETAIL? I don't care that Julia Roberts had twins, I don't care that Monica Gellar named her kid Coco, and I DON'T CARE that Gwyneth values being a mother over absolutely every other single thing in her fantastic life, even her handsome, sensitive, musical husband. Good for you, Gwynnie! Do you think you're the first woman on earth who spat a baby out of her vagina? Because you're not. Shut UP already.

ANYWAY. There was something other than Oprah's subject matter bothering me. Bernice seemed to be a lot more interested in watching TV than she was in cleaning my teeth. She kept asking me things like, "doesn't Oprah look fabulous?" (yes, fantastic) and "do you think Oprah is really that nice in real life?" (NO) If we had just been sitting in the waiting room, I wouldn't have cared. But while she has pointy objects in such close proximity to my tender, pink gums, I'd rather she be, I don't know, LOOKING AT MY MOUTH and NOT the TV.

That's just me, though. I'm kind of picky.

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