Occasionally, I understand grumpy people. I feel sorry for the ones with bad teeth.
I kind of like going to the dentist. It’s like a free treatment: my teeth get extra blingy and my insurance pays for it. I don’t really mind the poking of the pointy thingies or the gritty grindy toothpaste thing. But there is something about the dentist I don’t like. It is the talking. I am held captive, forced into a conversation against my will. And I start to wonder if hygienists are people that really require a lot of attention and have chosen a profession where they get it. With minimal interruptions. And that awesome squirt gun.
What makes it worse is that my gal is super sweet and chirpy. And so the bad thoughts running through my head about folding up my drool bib really nice and pretty and seeing if it fits in her mouth? Yeah, I don’t feel good about those.
So just to be clear, I get blingy teeth, but I am subjected to an annoying one-way conversation and I get a massive helping of guilt on the side. Awesome.