I walked to the dentist, yesterday and further developed my love/hate relationship with him. He’s a talented guy, don’t get me wrong, and pleasant enough during our one-sided conversations—he, with his gauze mask and hat, me with my bib and the aforementioned metal torture-tools protruding from my lips. And he may even be a good-looking fellow under all that sterile stuff he wears but then, I’ve never really seen him without it. Considering the amount of time I spend with him I think we should start exchanging pictures of our dogs and swapping recipes.
I’m on the Budget Plan with him: if I have money left after grocery shopping I plan an appointment. It’s the only way I can maintain our relationship. I miss our little chats when I’m broke. They go like this:
Dr. K: So, how have you been doing?
Me: Gah. Aa oo?
Dr. K: Fine, fine. Ok, then, let’s see if you’re ready? (Blast of air on tooth)
Me: Ay! Ah hea aa!
Dr. K: Ok, sorry. Let’s numb it a bit more!
My fiancé doesn’t understand what I’m saying when I’m sitting right next to him, speaking clearly, but this guy…
I made a mistake when I left the car at home this time. Walking to his office was no problem but walking home was a different story. After he was finished I was still a little shaky and my lips were swollen and numb from the injections in my gums. I also noticed that the front of my shirt was fairly well splattered with blood; so much for the effectiveness of the bib I’d been wearing.
I took my time going down Broadway and compensated for my unsteady gait by periodically putting my arms out straight. I proceeded cautiously, pleased that the street was empty, except for the people that were crossing to the other side.
“How did it go…GOOD HEAVENS!” said my fiancé when I arrived home. “Go look in a mirror!”
I’m not a big fan of looking into a full-length mirror, but this one was truly informative: there I stood, splattered with blood, lips swollen, drool running off my chin. You get the picture.
Zombie Apocalypse, right here in Gloucester City.
Next time, I’m driving and wearing a smock.
Just Sayin’ Dawn Watson