There is truly nothing cheerful about the dentist. No smiling, limited small talk, zero eye contact. In fact, if I saw my dentist in the grocery store, I wouldn’t recognize her, being right side up and with her face a comfortable distance away.
I’ve always loathed dentist appointments. It begins the night before, trying to arrange my not flossing speech in such a way, that will avoid the inevitable lecture. The day of, I brush my teeth three times and take a book to calm myself, but long history will have none of it. The sound of dental equipment as I enter the office is enough to give me a full body shiver.
And the bad news. It’s always bad news. I’ve noticed that dentists don’t practice the age-old rule of coupling criticism between two positive thoughts. I don’t know why, but they never take the time to compliment your good teeth – the ones minding their business on the other side. Instead it’s all about x-rays (without asking) and the bad news.
And then the receptionist, where you get billed, scheduled and sent on your way, sans free candy or toothbrush. I was always terrified to choose a prize when I was seven, too stressed by the many choices. They say youth is wasted on the young, and that’s true enough when it comes to appreciating free stuff.
So much for adulthood.
I think I’ll resign.