From today’s bloggery at my Other Place:
In the speaker above my head, a pocket-sized Paul Simon was strumming his tiny guitar and singing about Something So Right when the dentist came in. He skipped the introductions, moving in a blur of crisp white sleeves and gleaming chrome instruments before gently prodding my still-bleeding gums. “Do you floss?” he asked, pulling his paw out of my mouth so I could reply.
“Religiously,” I said, wiping at my lip with the bottom of the bib.
“Every day?”
“No, Christmas and Easter.”
He sighed deeply, which was disappointing. That was comedy gold, Tooth Man, GOLD.
“You’ve got a significant cavity in your number thirty molar, which is contributing to the inflammation and discomfort of your gingiva.”
“My gingiva is inflamed?”
He nodded.
“I should’ve worn a longer skirt.”
