Saturday, April 3, 2010

The chair

The dentist.
One word, seven letters and half the people who started reading this post have now quit.

Why did I have to inherit teeth that rot a hole when I look at a cookie? I mean, I love you unconditionally Mom and Dad and when I get told I'm too young to have 4 children and even when a teacher at school says there is no way I could be Claire's mom because I look 20, I actually do pass the compliment onto you; telling them that I was blessed with the youthful look DNA. But these teeth? Damn, they suck.

So, the dentist. Probably one of the people I love to hate the most. And, I have to pay her money, actually a lot of money just to hate going by her place for a visit. Now, my dentist as a person? She's great. She's frugal so we talk about saving money, she's a mom to girls around the same ages as my kids so we talk about expensive girl things like American Girl dolls and stores (which goes into the being frugal conversations), she bought a foreclosure home and remodeled it so we talk about that, you name it, we talk about it. Sometimes I think she clears out the next appointment when I come because between her, me and the assistant we talk away half an hour in no time.

But, to sit in her chair and keep my mouth open without talking? Thank the heavens God gave someone the medical geniosity of anti-anxiety medications. And that's all I have to say about that.

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