Barsuk
Active Member
- Joined
- Sep 13, 2004
- Messages
- 4,973
Just came back from the dentist, and although I've been a fairly good boy in the six months since my last cleaning, brushing religiously and flossing semi-regularly, there are always some painful moments.
The feeling that you're drowning in your own saliva, and even though the hygienist said you can close down on the suction straw any time, you feel kind of guilty doing it, like you're messing with her rhythm -- kind of like talking to someone who is writing on deadline.
The disgusting taste of the tooth polish, which leaves your mouth feeling as though you've eaten a stick of cherry Lip Smackers and a handful of sand for breakfast. Seriously, can I forgo the polishing?
Those damn cards from the X-rays slicing into your cheek while you wait for them to take the damn picture already.
But none of these discomforts compared to the most painful moment of this trip to the dentist.
I'm lying in the chair, plastic safety goggles every so slightly fogged up, a strange woman's hands in my mouth, when Phil Collins' "In the Air Tonight" comes over the radio. After the last song was some Gwen Stefani song I heard about 1,000 times too many last year, I think to myself, "Now we're talking."
And here comes the pain. It gets to my favorite part of the song, and I realize, "This woman's hands are in my mouth. How the **** am I supposed to mouth the words, 'Well, I remember!'?" I can't. It hurts. Then comes the next verse, and I realize, "She's going to jam that damn pokey thing into my gums if I hit the solo on the air drums. Should I do it? Better not." So I don't. It hurts.
I know some of you will feel my pain. (I'm looking at you, Beej!)
The feeling that you're drowning in your own saliva, and even though the hygienist said you can close down on the suction straw any time, you feel kind of guilty doing it, like you're messing with her rhythm -- kind of like talking to someone who is writing on deadline.
The disgusting taste of the tooth polish, which leaves your mouth feeling as though you've eaten a stick of cherry Lip Smackers and a handful of sand for breakfast. Seriously, can I forgo the polishing?
Those damn cards from the X-rays slicing into your cheek while you wait for them to take the damn picture already.
But none of these discomforts compared to the most painful moment of this trip to the dentist.
I'm lying in the chair, plastic safety goggles every so slightly fogged up, a strange woman's hands in my mouth, when Phil Collins' "In the Air Tonight" comes over the radio. After the last song was some Gwen Stefani song I heard about 1,000 times too many last year, I think to myself, "Now we're talking."
And here comes the pain. It gets to my favorite part of the song, and I realize, "This woman's hands are in my mouth. How the **** am I supposed to mouth the words, 'Well, I remember!'?" I can't. It hurts. Then comes the next verse, and I realize, "She's going to jam that damn pokey thing into my gums if I hit the solo on the air drums. Should I do it? Better not." So I don't. It hurts.
I know some of you will feel my pain. (I'm looking at you, Beej!)