rubber coated utensils would make the world a better place
August 24, 2006
I am getting ready to leave and go to the dentist. Yes again. I know I should just move in there I am there so often. My husband already his his paycheck directly deposited into the dentist’s bank account.
The funny thing is that my teeth look fine. I have people tell me all the time that my teeth looked really good, and they wonder why I am always at the dentist.
The short answer is that my teeth are weak. They don’t like to chew things that are hard or crunchy. And the back ones where I have the problems, are not the ones that are visible when I smile. And what problems are those? Large fillings that have weakened my teeth, which in turn have caused the teeth to crack, or chip, or break and have resulted in way too many root canals and/or caps. Back left molar, chipped when I carelessly tossed a handful of Halloween Nerds into my mouth and bit down.
But today I am just going in for a cleaning.
Which wouldn’t be a problem for a normal person. But I have already established that I am not normal.
I hate getting my teeth cleaned. I hate that pokey little metal thing that scrapes my teeth. It gives me the chills just thinking about it.
I am not sure if I have written about it before, but I hate the sound of metal scraping on anything. Metal spoon in a metal pan… could make my head explode. Or at the very least grab it frantically out of the stirrer’s hand and shriek, perhaps even use naughty words.
Fork and knife scraping against each other over a dinner plate. The first time I usually can refrain from saying or doing anything, but after that all bets are off. I might just reach across the table and grab the utensils out of your hand. And possibly stab you with the fork if you resist.
Anyway, wish me luck. I am hoping that I am not forced to stab the hygenist with the dental tools.
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