My Dentist, The Dingbat


I got into this interesting discussion with my dentist today as she was preparing the temporary crown for my back tooth. This was after the first one cracked within hours of being installed. I had come back to her office for an emergency visit, with of course, the Baby Boodle in tow.

“Is she with you all the time?” Dingbat asks about BB, her back is turned to me as she fusses with nasty smelling/tasting plastic at the counter. BB is doing pretty well at this point, strapped down in her stroller with a few blocks in her lap. She was more fascinated with the dentist’s waist-long, curly, flowing, high maintenance hair than with me getting things jammed in my mouth.

“Mostly,” I reply calmly. I can sense something stupid about to form. She goes on to ask me generic questions about my plans for the holiday, mentions how cold it is, etc., etc. There must have been a course in dental school called “Engaging in Patient Conversations” since she seemed to be ticking off an imaginary list in her head as she spoke.

“Is she a morning person?” Ahhh, it’s building, I can feel it.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, she is.” I say this proudly, like waking early is an Olympic event that my child should get the gold for.

“I guess that means you don’t get to sleep in,” she says with pity in her voice. I skip a beat and want to scream with laughter. Lady, you have no fucking clue. There. Is. No. Sleeping. Period.

I just smiled at her as she turned to me and stuck plastic in my mouth.


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