I had to go back to the dentist to get my fake crown put on while waiting for my real crown.
I wish I was talking about a tiara.
But I'm not.
I drive to the dentist's office at eight in the morning, so I'm already a little off whack. I get to the office, sit down, and after about ten minutes I get this message from my lower intestines:
EVACUATION COUNTDOWN
10...9...8...
What??
I try to ride it out, but then I get the signs that I need to go NOW.
You know, the cold flashes and goosebumps.
That grab-the-handicap-rail-this-is-gonna-be-fun need to go.
By the time I'm called to the back, I've gone to the bathroom twice, and people in the waiting room are looking at me funny. I don't care. I sit in the dentist's chair (the chair of torture) and take an x-ray and I think it's going to be okay.
But it wasn't.
Back to the bathroom I go, hi ho, hi ho.
When I walk back into the room the hygienist cheerfully asks "Is everything okay?"
I wonder how long it took for her to retrieve that plastic cup from her tonsils.
Apparently not long because in a matter of minutes she has it in my mouth along with the dentist's two instruments and a "cheek pad" that doesn't really pad anything. Then they had the nerve to comment "You sure do have a small mouth. You should consider getting your wisdom teeth removed."
No, YOU should consider removing seven of your fingers. That would be an immense help.
Luckily I made it through the 1.5 hour ordeal with no accidents or interruptions. THAT didn't happen until I got into the car to drive the 30 miles home.
I kid, I kid!
Sorry, no accidents for my lovely, sick minded blog readers.
But I was praying for mercy the whole way home, and made a beeline to the bathroom as soon as I hit the front door.
Maybe I was just nervous.
Maybe I just needed a good blog subject.
Nevertheless, I return to the dentist in two weeks to get my porcelain crown.
(I asked for gold, but my insurance refused to cover it. Bummer.)
I wish I was talking about a tiara.
But I'm not.
I drive to the dentist's office at eight in the morning, so I'm already a little off whack. I get to the office, sit down, and after about ten minutes I get this message from my lower intestines:
EVACUATION COUNTDOWN
10...9...8...
What??
I try to ride it out, but then I get the signs that I need to go NOW.
You know, the cold flashes and goosebumps.
That grab-the-handicap-rail-this-is-gonna-be-fun need to go.
By the time I'm called to the back, I've gone to the bathroom twice, and people in the waiting room are looking at me funny. I don't care. I sit in the dentist's chair (the chair of torture) and take an x-ray and I think it's going to be okay.
But it wasn't.
Back to the bathroom I go, hi ho, hi ho.
When I walk back into the room the hygienist cheerfully asks "Is everything okay?"
I wonder how long it took for her to retrieve that plastic cup from her tonsils.
Apparently not long because in a matter of minutes she has it in my mouth along with the dentist's two instruments and a "cheek pad" that doesn't really pad anything. Then they had the nerve to comment "You sure do have a small mouth. You should consider getting your wisdom teeth removed."
No, YOU should consider removing seven of your fingers. That would be an immense help.
Luckily I made it through the 1.5 hour ordeal with no accidents or interruptions. THAT didn't happen until I got into the car to drive the 30 miles home.
I kid, I kid!
Sorry, no accidents for my lovely, sick minded blog readers.
But I was praying for mercy the whole way home, and made a beeline to the bathroom as soon as I hit the front door.
Maybe I was just nervous.
Maybe I just needed a good blog subject.
Nevertheless, I return to the dentist in two weeks to get my porcelain crown.
(I asked for gold, but my insurance refused to cover it. Bummer.)
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