My Trip to the Dentist

“Open Wide, Please”

Going to the dentist is difficult for most people, but it takes on a different sort of difficulty for me. Like, when most people go to the dentist, they think of it as a torturous exercise in pain that they must endure. I do not. I brush my teeth twice daily, and floss every one, taking as long as it takes because I have no real life outside of this blog and maybe three or four friends, most of whom I never see. So, when I go to the dentist, I always fear my first cavity, because that would show that I have failed in my goal. I would become one of the common people. One of the people with holes in their teeth.

Today was not unlike any other day, in that respect. Though I’ve gotten used to going to the dentist for the most part, it is still not as relaxing as, say, a trip to the doctor. When I go to the doctor, there is a very simple cycle of events, in which my weight is taken, they strangle my arm with their little blood pressure monitor, my doctor tells me I may have some kind of horrible disease, he asks about my pimples, etcetera. Then he gives me lots and lots of various drugs, I get tests that show that I do not in fact have any horrible diseases, and I go home.

But when I go to the dentist, it can be quite different. You never know when they’re going to tell you that you have to have sealants replaced, or that your wisdom teeth are breaking your back teeth apart and thus must be removed, or that you have excess saliva in your mouth, and you are being difficult, and would you please shut off your saliva glands because I Did NOT go to college to deal with yucky spit. This time, I got through with a clean bill of health, except for one thing: Like I already mentioned, the damn wisdom teeth. You’d think that wisdom teeth would be wise enough to not grind up against other teeth like juvenile delinquents, and just be good. You would be wrong. Mine are being mean little bastards, and they are apparently screwing around with my back molar teeth. This, of course, is not good. I need my back molar teeth. They need me. I have enjoyed chewing food with them.

Unfortunately, that means that I must have my wisdom teeth removed, which is the bane of human existence for guys. Oh, sure, you ladies out there, you have your little birthing ceremonies, wherein you stretch and scream and push and puuuush until a little potato-looking thing comes out of your reproductive regions, and then ask that it be put back in because it is frightening the nurses, but for a guy, the two major pain times in one’s life are Circumcision and Wisdom Tooth Removal, which many dentists now perform under cover of darkness with at least one priest on call for any necessary exorcisms.

So I am not super-happy. Even the comedic stylings of 8-Bit Theater cannot relieve my stress. And I have been unable to play video games all summer long, because our main television, the one with all kinds of switches and knobs and orifices for electronic devices, happens to be an RCA, and is therefore broken. If my cousin Josh teases me because he beats me at Soul Calibur II when he gets back from Ohio, I’m going to kick his ass whenever I get the opportunity.

However, there is a silver lining to every cloud, and as it turns out, I get to probably go to Red Lobster tomorrow. It is a custom that whenever I go to the dentist, me and my mother go to the Red Lobster, and this time shall not be different from all the other times. I like crab. It is good. It is good incentive to go to the dentist. And above all else, there is always shrimp.

And, of course, my teeth.

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