In honor of Shark Week, I feel like a post about my teeth is in order. No, it’s not really food nor fitness but it’s my website so bite me. Pun intended.
So I sit down in the dentists chair and the dental assistant asks me if I floss. Look… You know. I know. I do not floss. Can we please skip the rigmarole of the flossing interrogation. I DON’T FLOSS!!! I probably never will. If I wanted my mouth to bleed like I’ve been french kissing a cactus, then I’d just eat cereal without any milk. That seems to do the trick.
She asks, “can you remember the last time you flossed?” To which I politely responded “when was my last visit?”
So she starts flossing me and three hours later I’m still cut up. She strikes gold as she pulls what looks like a whole chicken finger from between my teeth. “What do you think this could be?” she asks. I told her it was probably a piece of McRib from last November and she quickly continued on with the exam.
By the way, I see a pediatric dentist I guarantee you I’m her only bearded patient so things are already weird. The dentist’s office is board game themed and my exam room was modeled after Candy Land. So, as if to create the illusion of not being at the dentist’s office, they’ve painted the gumdrop mountains and lollipop woods up on the wall. Seems to defeat the purpose of a dentist’s office but I can’t complain.
Here’s another thing. Why do dentists seem to want to talk to you more than hairdressers? What’s that? You can’t understand what I’m saying? Then get your fingers out of my trachea.
But in all honesty I love my dentist and I’m not just saying that because she reads my blog. They’re all very friendly, quick, and professional. I highly recommend her.
SAY CHEESE >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
I’ll be feeding you seconds in no time~