The Dentist

Let’s just say that I am not a fan of any situation in which I am forced to sit in a dirty chair wearing a bib, while a strange man asks me stupid questions while his hands are in my mouth. As if I could answer in those circumstances! Even if I wanted to! (Which I didn’t.) The Dentist absolutely destroyed me this morning. Dentists are among the worst of the worsts. Generally I am unbiased about Dentists in general, until one of them with an overly thick mustache tells me that I need a root canal which costs more than a used car.

Cue blackout rage.

The mustached bearer of bad news then had the nerve to say “have a good one!” as I walked out. Maybe I will, and probably I won’t. I thought, in defiance. Who the hell has the audacity to say “have a good one” 5 minutes after saying “I am going to drill into your tooth and remove it from your mouth, while you are awake.” To make matters worse, he wouldn’t exactly fall into the “speaks English fluently” category. And he breathes like he is in labor. COME. ON. So, when he told me I had to have a root canal, I desperately wanted to look him square in the eye and say “Umm, you aren’t the boss of me,” but I refrained based solely on the idea that I don’t want to give him any reason to deny me extra painkillers.

So as it stands, I will return to the Dentist this afternoon for my root canal. And I am nothing short of PIST off about it. I’m going to need to treat myself after this is all said and done.