Bad case of the dentist

I've never liked going to the dentist. I can't remember what my temperament was like as a child when I had to go visit the drilling terror, but I'm sure it was never fun. I don't mind having my teeth feel shiny and clean. In fact, I love running my tongue over my teeth when I leave. It's like a slip and slide they're so smooth. If there's one good thing from a visit to the dentist, that's it. And the free tooth brush of course.

Isn't he going to be such a good looking dentist?

I hate being told I have a cavity. Thankfully after enduring a billion cavities when my baby teeth grew in, I haven't had to deal with that torture too often. Only on occasion, one being recently. Here are some things to know about me when I'm at the dentist; I'll do whatever I can to get out of taking fluoride. I usually succeed. Half of the time I think what they're telling me about my teeth is bogus. As if I know so much better than them. They just want my money. And the sound of their instruments, particularly the drill, is enough to send chills down my spine. I cringe. I want out. Am I the only one?

Today's visit to the dentist, instilled in me even further, my strong dislike for a visit to the chair, especially when the only reason I am there, is because they messed up in the first place. I can't recall how many times my visits to the dentist were due to their errors, but I've had my fair share, and I'm hoping my out of pocket expense for these visits is about up. I almost started thinking, poor John, all he's going to have to endure as my future dentist. But really, he should consider himself lucky. He has one tough critic on his hands, and therefore is going to make one fine dentist. Future patients will appreciate it. And hopefully, in a few years, dentist and torture will no longer be in the same sentence.