Mondays: work/ class every other week
Wednesdays: Used to go to work, now I just go to the dentist, which means my Fridays that used to read: sleep in, half-heartedly do homework, feel proud of doing homework and celebrate by going running, then come home and collapse until time to go out, are now: work/ come home and eat Cheez-its then watch What Not to Wear
This is officially out of hand, and I now live in fear of becoming the girl who talks about nothing but oral hygiene. I think I’m becoming boring.
Today was root canal day, and I have to admit, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Certainly, it’s uncomfortable to sit for that long with your mouth open and two people passing horrifying-looking instruments over your face, but it could have been much, much worse. Even the hygienists overly-perky demeanor and stunted vocabulary (though she knew all the dental terms), wasn’t as annoying as I thought it might be.
That said, I don’t want to do it again.
But, because I am me, and I have the worst teeth in the world, I have another appointment next Wednesday where I will be having fillings– eight of them. When the dentist told me the number, I gawped at him and said, “Is that basically all of my teeth?”
“Well, you’ve had your wisdom teeth out, so you have 28 teeth, and you’ll have fillings in 10 of them… for now…” he just kind of shrugged.
My inner brat wants to develop some kind of candy and soda habit in a way to legitimize the fact that most of my teeth will not, in fact, be teeth but some kind of scary-ass, space-age bonding agent– but I do not much care for candy and soda, so I will place the blame squarely on my mother. My brother, who subsists on skittles, pizza, and chips while drinking his body weight in Mountain Dew daily, has never had a cavity; and my father, who cannot say no to a piece of pie and eats an obscene amount of cookies, has a great dental check-up every six months.
They both have thinning hair though, and that it what I will comfort myself with.