Thursday, January 22, 2009

Walker, Texas Ranger, DDS

There is nothing unusual, remarkable, or unique about my hatred of going to the dentist. I would actually be a freakish anomaly if I enjoyed going to the dentist, and even more so if I loved it so much that every time I went, I took candy (sugar-free, natch) for my fave hygienists.

Maybe if all the hygienists at the HQ of my preferred DDS weren’t Chuck Norris, I could even have a fave to begin with. When Chuck said, “I’ll see you in hell,” he was specifically referring to those beige faux-leather chairs.

Complicating the scenario like Leo DiCaprio on "Growing Pains" is the fact that I have extremely sensitive teeth, and all Chuck Norris has to do is flash any one of the dental death-picks at me to send me through the roof. Chuck Norris also has poor listening and empathy skills, so when I say in my tiniest child-bride voice, “Please be gentle with me,” he yells back “Suck it, pansy, and take it like a soldier!!” And just like any good episode of “Walker, Texas Ranger,” there is blood. There is ALWAYS blood, and you can bet your full-series boxed DVD set that it’s not Chuck Norris’.

I’m currently on the dentist’s cancellation/hit list, because I totally blacked out my December appointment. At the very moment when I was scripted to lie back, be still, and meet my destiny on the faux leather, I was working away in my office, merrily unaware of the horrific death I had skirted. The phone rang, and it was Chuck. “Grace, hi. Where are you?”

“I’m…at my…office?” I stammered, baffled as to why they cared. I pushed through my confusion and figured I’d save them the next question. “I’m wearing a pink cashmere sweater and pearl—”

“Grace, you’re supposed to be here right now.” His iron grip closed around my throat through the phone line. I saw God.

“I a—OH I AM!! Oh, shoot. I’m so sorry! I completely forgot!” I am more senile than my eighty-year-old grandmother. (I’m also taller, but that’s neither here nor there.)

Chuck Norris breathed a sigh reminiscent of the winds of Hurricane Katrina and I could hear the click-click of angry typing. “I’m putting you on the cancellation list. We’ll call you when we have an opening.” The line went dead, just like my soul.

So now I’m on their hit list, subject to the daily Russian Roulette of their schedule. They called me yesterday, and I lied and said I had a meeting and couldn’t be there. Again, the sigh that swept away NOLA, but I had to lie. It was a life-saving lie, because it gives me time to formulate another lie: The fantasy that I floss every day. I mean, I DO floss every day, but only in the two weeks leading up to each appointment. Just enough time for my gums to get used to the unaccustomed abuse and stop puffing up like a Peep in the microwave. I want to floss, but not enough to stay up to do it every night when I’m already exhausted. The only person I know who really likes to floss is my dad, but he also loves bagpipes and canned herring, so we’re removing his opinion from this selective poll.

I’ve begun flossing in earnest awaiting Chuck’s inevitable summons to the death chamber. If I can get in at least a week of good flossage, then the fact that I failed to floss for the last 26 phases of the moon usually goes undetected. It would probably go over better if when Chuck says, “So, have we been flossing every night, weak baby kitten?” I didn’t stare at the wall and focus on the abyss of infinity, before quickly replying, “Yup, every single night, ever, so help me God, I pledge allegiance, amen.” I’m not sure which penalty is stiffer: The punishment for not flossing every night, or the punishment for lying to Chuck Norris. I do not want to find out.

Word to the wise: I’ve learned that, in the event that a dentist appointment sneaks up on you, and maybe it’s the night before and you haven’t flossed since Bush 41, DO NOT floss the night before. Your gums will go all Peeps on you, and they’ll see through your feeble tricks. Wait and floss right before you go. Your gums will be clean, and won’t have time to figure out what the hell you just did to them. WINZ!!!

2 comments:

Shelley said...

HERRING SNACKS!!!!!!!!!!!

I hate the dentist too. The Army forced me to go last summer for the first time in 3 years, and OMG THAT WAS SO PAINFUL. The hour I was in that chair was worse than all 9 weeks of basic training. omg. and my mouth hurt for 2 whole days. Ugh.

Grace said...

I go every six months like crazy-stupid clockwork, but My Friend Chuck still maims me every time.