Going to the dentist is one of those things that practically everyone hates. When we hear that one of our friends is going to the dentist, we sympathetically pat them on the back, wishing them good luck, as if they were having a court date instead.
Why does everyone dislike going to the dentist? After long and prolonged thought, here are my highly scientific conclusions.
First there’s the Waiting Room. The Waiting Room smells funny and has uncomfortable chairs. If you’re not careful, a complete and utter stranger might sit down next to you in the Waiting Room. The Waiting Room plays that horrible country music that you hate so much and that promptly gets stuck in your head. And lastly, the Waiting Room is always the wrong temperature, so that you either need your jacket in the summer, or a t-shirt in the winter.
After the Waiting Room, there is the Moral Temptation. You go back and sit in one of reclining chairs, and the hygienist (who is, by the way, very nice) starts asking you those awful questions. “Do you floss every day?” Here’s where the Moral Temptation begins. Your eyes dart about frantically. Do you stretch the truth a little and say, “Most of the time”? It would be so nice to say that just once to the hygienist. Do you valiantly resist the Moral Temptation and say, “Well, I did once, about 6 months ago…”? Or do you say something optimistic like, “No, but I just made a belated New Years Resolution to do so,” even though it’s the middle of April? Such hard choices to make!
The hygienist then begins to Inspect your teeth. In order to better see them, she pulls back your lips, pushing them this way and that until you mentally hope that your pastor doesn’t walk by and see you sitting with such an expression on your face.
The hygienist picks on your teeth a little, polishes them, and does fluoride (yummy! Ask for strawberry), and then begins the Flossing. Since, in reality, you haven’t touched a piece of floss in 6 months, it is not a pleasant experience. Sometimes it feels as if the hygienist thinks your wayward gums have risen too high and she’s trying to floss them back down to your chin.
You get your little toothbrush (which has a handle too fat to fit in your toothbrush holder), joyfully trot back to the Waiting Room, and mentally vow that next time you visit the dentist, you will have brushed twice a day and flossed for the last six months. Then you promptly forget all about the dentist for the next six months. Until your mother announces one morning, “Don’t forget we have dental appointments tomorrow!”
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