That One Thing that Happens to Me at the Dentist’s

Even writers go to the dentist.

I had always dreamed of one day attaining a higher plane of reality where I was a person who could not only write, but also no longer had to visit the dentist’s office.

Shortly after after writing something, I learned that writer’s are normal people just like anyone else.

If I had known this, I would have become a televangelist.

I went to the dentist recently.

Visiting the dentist is always uncomfortable because I am forced to face the lies I have been telling myself about the standards of my daily oral hygiene.

Of course, to be courteous to the dentist, I floss and brush my teeth just before I go into the office, and I don’t eat anything for the entire day until after my appointment, which means that I go through a nervous breakdown without even the comfort of a cheeseburger rollling around in my stomach.

It doesn’t help that the dentist’s assistant is a girl I had a huge crush on through high school. Today she’s trim, fit, regularly runs marathons, and could bench press me at a moment’s notice. I however, have also blossomed nicely since my high school years.

For instance, I have a blog.

Bitterness aside, she leads me to the chair, tells me the dentist will be with me shortly, and then leaves me to contemplate my life choices and my very existence.

Why do they always leave you in the chair alone for half an hour? Is it an attempt to calm your nerves? Is the dentist genuinely busy, or is she in the back room finishing up a killer Candy Crush run?

The dentist, a wonderful woman, finally finishes up her game, comes to say hello, and immediately sticks her hands in my mouth, which I find odd.

I mean, no one else does that to me after saying hello.

She picks around in my mouth with an iron hook, asks me a question or two that I can’t answer without drooling on myself, gives me a shot in the gums, lowers the chair, and gets to work on my bad tooth.

Then the worst happens.

I crack up.

I don’t get it, I really don’t. What’s so odd about being at the dentist’s? I don’t laugh in the doctor’s examining room where I’m conversing normally with someone I don’t know while wearing nothing but my underwear. But every dang time I’m at the dentist I have a hysterical laughing fit. Something strikes me funny about the whole setup;

1: Sitting so close to the floor.

2: Feeling awkward if I stare into my dentist’s eyes when she works.

3: Not knowing where to look, and staring into the lamp instead. (By the way, I have a deep and meaningful relationship with my dentist’s lamp. It’s name is Belmont.)

My dentist kind of cringes every time I come into her office. She must think I’m the strangest client she has.

Have you any idea how weird it is to laugh with tools sticking out of your mouth?

It’s strange that there are so many comedic takes on the concept of dentistry.

Have you ever heard Bill Cosby do his dentist routine? The first time I heard it, I was eight, and I prepared to meet my Maker because I was laughing so hard that I couldn’t breathe.

What about Tim Conway and Harvey Korman’s skit called The Dentist? Legend says Korman peed his pants from laughing so hard the first time it was performed.

These comedic bits come back to me with incredible vividness whenever I look at the white walls and have a bib around my neck.

It happens every time, every year. I lay down on the dentist chair, very seriously prepared for my dental work, and I lose whatever semblance of normality I claimed to possess.

So here’s the bottom line: from now on, I don’t want to go to the dentist’s without being sedated. I need to go into the front office, take a pill, and I want to be woken up afterwards. I don’t want to remember anything that happened inside the dental office.

I hope you’re reading this, nice Dentist lady.

P.S. Thanks for working on my teeth, btw.

P.P.S. And thanks for not suing me when I accidentally spit on you.

I have exaggerated a little here, but not much. I do laugh in the dentist’s chair. Please forgive me, Nice Dentist Lady. -BW

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