Only at the dentist

So I just dropped something like eleventy million trajillion dollars at the dentist. This may be a loose estimate. And I’m still not done paying. I want to curl in the fetal position and cry myself to sleep. Why did no one tell me about this part of being an adult? I just want to wear fabulous clothes and stay up waaaaaay past midnight. Sob.

And I know, okay? I know it’s my fault for thinking that all those years of drinking Cherry Coke weren’t going to catch up with me. So consider this a public service announcement. Don’t eat or drink so much sugar. Apparently, pasta counts as sugar because of the starch. Just FYI. I’m available to come speak to your kids, DARE style. Except instead of telling them not to do drugs, I’ll show them exactly what happens when they eat too much candy. Don’t be like Lucy, little ones. Floss your little hearts out.

Also, I know there are children starving in China so I better buck up and be thankful I have access to dental care. There. Did I cover all the haters? Good. Moving on…

I may have mentioned a time or 12 that I do not have good speech recognition skills. This means that if you are talking to me, I must see your mouth so I can lipread. If you say something and I’m not looking at you, be prepared for an onslaught of “What?”s to come your way.

But somehow I’ve learned to recognize a few things the dentist says, even with his mask on. “Open!” “Bite down.” “Chomp, chomp, chomp.” “Grind your teeth.” “Are you doing okay?” It’s such a little thing, but it is neat to know what he is saying without having to read his lips, even though I know that I am also relying on other cues to clue me in to the message. For one thing, his inflection is much more pronounced so I know when he’s talking to me and not issuing orders to his assistant. And usually, I can tell what he wants me to do based on what kind of action is going down in my mouth. Obviously, if his fingers are all up in my grill, he’s not asking me to bite down. I know that he’ll ask me to chomp before grinding my teeth and he’ll sit back or get up before asking me how I’m doing.

So it’s not all about hearing him, per se. But it’s still pretty neat.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go to the street corner and beg for alms.

Happy Friday!

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