The Dentist

The cookie.

The tooth.

The bill.

First, thank you Ree for watching the kids so that I could take a much needed

trip to the dentist.

On Sunday night, I was innocently eating a delicious sugar cookie.

Chewing away, I felt something hard. Trying to chew it, I realized that it was too

hard to eat, spit it into my hand, examined it, and proclaimed, "That looks like a tooth."

Imagine my shock when I realized it was a tooth and not just any tooth, MY TOOTH!!

At least it didn't hurt.

Now, I hate dentists, really, really hate them. They may be nice people when

they aren't sporting needles and drills, but when they are,

I would rather stay away. For many years I have managed to avoid the

dentist. Well, a chipped tooth. What was I to do. I could either become

one of those guests on Jerry Springer who sports a smile

that screams, "I have poor oral hygiene," or I could put my fears aside

and go to the dentist. Debating my options Jerry Springer smile or

dentist, I had to choose dentist. Not that there's anything wrong

with Jerry's guests. It's just not me. Thankfully, I found a dentist

that didn't laugh at me when I explained my fear of needles, drills, and Novocaine. He

continued to listen as I begged for the gas, only to learn that it is currently

illegal to use knock out gas in a dentist's office.

He promised that I would feel nothing, and that my experience would

be "pleasant". I wasn't too sure. Pleasant and Dentist seem a bit

like oxymorons. Well, I didn't feel anything. He numbed my mouth so much

that I didn't even feel the needle deliver the Novocaine. He allowed the Novocaine

to work, and I didn't even feel it as he drilled what was

left of my tooth away. Now, I wouldn't choose a trip to the dentists

over an afternoon shopping trip, but it wasn't that bad.

I even made an appointment to get the rest

of my mouth examined. I guess I won't

become one of those TV talk show guests

that are missing the majority of their teeth.