I went to the dentist last week. I've written about it before - many times, in fact.
My dentist has the top qualification in my book: small hands.
When you've had as many fillings (and are facing as many crowns) as I have, then small hands win any game of dentistry rochambeau.
Dream Dentist.
So that's what he has going FOR him. Glad he has that.
Because what he does NOT have is a MEMORY. That, or he just doesn't give a shit about the details.
I say that because he never seems to remember who I am. Or rather, he THINKS I'm someone I'm not.
During a past visit he asked how "the girls" were doing, which made me want to grab my breasts, shake them vigorously, and say, "Hanging in there!"
"Bet you're spending a lot of time shuttling everyone to sports," he had continued.
Mmmm... NO. But because I wasn't feeling confrontational (and because his little hands were in my mouth) I simply nodded. So maybe I'm partially to blame, for never setting him straight?
In any case, this last time he went for a more generic approach. "How's the family?"
I think it still threw him for a loop, however, when I said, "Really good. I just saw them in December."
His eyes looked a bit crazy for a minute and I could tell he was wondering if I'd left my husband or if my family had packed up and moved cross-country. I just smiled up at him from the chair, glad that he was wincing as much as I was for once as he jammed the pick to check for gum disease.
He decided to recover by changing his approach. "You're dressed more casually than usual today," he remarked.
I rolled my eyes down to check my outfit, which was pretty much what I've worn to work every day for as long as I've been visiting his practice. It made me wonder if my dentistry doppelgänger (who - assuming she exists - is clearly raising girls and shuttling them around to sports like a beast) also has a fancy job that requires suits.
Again, I just nodded. Let him believe that jeans and a sweater are step-down from my regular fashion.
As we wrapped up our appointment, I decided to play his game with him. The last time I saw him, he'd thrown his back out to such an extent he needed surgery. As I left the room, I said, "By the way - how are your hips?"
CHEW ON THAT.
WordPress.com
