Little Office of Horrors

So the other day I went to the dentist. Shudder. Most people hate going to the dentist but those of us cursed with poor dental genes have a bigger burden to carry. I think I had 16 cavities filled once. Not kidding.

After I had settled in for the torture, the hygienist began making the obligatory small talk. She asked how many kids I had and I said "Three, soon to be four." Before she could swoop in with a comment like "Ah, I thought you looked pregnant. How far along? Seven months or so?", I quickly told her we were adopting. She asked where from and when. I said probably early fall, it depends on her heart surgery in Shanghai. She exclaimed "Oh, that's wonderful! You know she has heart problems and you still want to adopt her? You're definitely going to Heaven!"

Which makes me think two things:

-That's the requirement for Heaven? Adopting a child with special needs? Man, I'll be set for life now!

-And also, what's wrong with people sometimes? Not wanting a child because they have some issues? Thank goodness my mom didn't think that way. Her eye still twitches sometimes when she speaks of my childhood.

Then the hygienist began scraping my gums with a sharp stick, all the while remarking on how much I'm bleeding. Well, yeah. Of course I am. You have a sharp stick and you're repeatedly scraping tender pink tissue in my mouth. It makes perfect sense to me. And yet every hygienist acts all surprised. Maybe I should start doing that with my patients.

"Ok, here's your injection. Large gauge needle, chemicals right into your muscle. Here we go! What, that doesn't feel good? Odd, you seem uncomfortable. You're obviously doing something wrong in your life if this hurts you."

Then she starts measuring the gum line. Have you had this done? It's a good time. They take that needle of theirs and begin poking it into your gums at every tooth, inside and out. Then they shout out numbers. "One, one, two, three, two, one..." The whole time she's apologizing "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. Oh, I'll bet that hurts. So sorry." Stop apologizing. I tell my kids that being sorry means you don't do it again. She's obviously not sorry.

Then the dentist comes in and says "How are you today (and here I have numbing medicine on my gums, I have those weird sunglasses on and I'm drooling)?

"Well, I was ok until about 20 minutes ago when I sat down. How are you?"

"I'm doing great this morning. Really well."

"Of course you are, you're not getting poked with sharp sticks."

He chuckles like I'm joking.

Then he looks at my x-ray and begins to ask me when I got this crown done and how long have I had this filling, etc. Every single tooth in my mouth has had something done. Most of them several times. Are you really asking me details of specific dental work? Unless I look down, I can't remember what I'm wearing on any particular day. Oh that crown? Ah yes, I remember it well. The sky was blue and the birds were singing...

It's time for a new subject.

Today I went to Wal-Mart. Nothing happened in the store, it was the usual trip. As Noah and I were leaving, I noticed a woman very enthusiastically waving to me.

Hmm, I don't recognize her. Oh, the pitfalls of having so many friends.

Not being one to break a friend's heart by not waving, I wave back.

She, of course, was waving to someone behind me.

So then I have to pretend like I'm waving to someone behind her. Then I have to decide how committed I am to this charade. Should I shout a greeting? "Cynthia, darling! Haven't seen you since the 'Save the Depressed Wombat' fundraiser!" Then the original waver might happen to turn around and realize there's no one there. So then I'd have to pretend that my dear, dear friend has just gotten into her vehicle and I'd have to shout something like "No, no, you must go. I insist. Hemorrhoids are simply terrible, yes."

Parking lots can get tricky real fast.