Dentists

You know… there is something so vaguely sexual and illicit about getting dental work done. Maybe it’s because my mind wanders so endlessly… but I was thinking about this the other day. I was getting a molar filled (among my many flaws, terrible dentition is high on the list).

It was the top left one… all the way in the back. You know, that little fucker in the back of your mouth that is always caught up with too much sugar and fucking up your floss? Yeah… that’s the one I was getting fixed up.

Anyway – I get all drugged up and my dentist starts rolling that seat back. First it’s just so I’m lying at a 45 degree angle and he’s checking out the filling. And then as he starts to prep for drilling he pushes the chair even further back. I’m practically flat on my back and helpless as a lamb. He checks a couple things and then he rotates so he’s directly behind me and my head is between is knees.

Now. My head. Between. His. Knees. This sounds like the beginning of those dirty texts I send my boyfriends to rile them up (and convince them to buy me something new and sparkly). So. My head is between his knees, and my mouth is WIDE open. It’s numb. And he sticks a drill in my mouth…. it moves in and out and he splashes a little mouth wash on me… and goes “Whoopsies” before chuckling. Occasionally he says things like… “You need to open more” or “Hold on… I’m almost finished” or “Just a second…” or “Is this okay?”

And sometimes I have to mumble through his fingers and drill sticking in my mouth… “It’s okay. Keep going!” or “No… Stop!”

And you thought going to the dentist sucked….

 

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