Under The Shrieking Pterodactyl 

I have a great amount of respect for dentists and gynecologists. Neither of them ever has any idea what they’re in for when they show up at work for the day. 

I went to my dentist’s office today for prep work for two crowns.  Dr P. is awesome. If you’re in the market, let me know and I’ll give you the number.  I love the smell of the dentist’s office by the way. It’s like when I go to get tattooed. I love the smell of that place too. Scentsy should get in and capitalize on that shit before someone else does.  Also, I don’t know if it’s irony or coincidence or maybe kismet, that my cute dental hygienist and my Tattooer happen to be married to one another and are good friends of mine, but their business establishments smell way better than mine does. 

Anyway….as Dr P was drilling away on the overlay that he was preparing to crown, I told him that his drill sounded like a shrieking pterodactyl.  He and the dental assistant laughed and then he said he thought I had said streaking pterodactyl and made a joke about what it would look like to see one running through Smiths.  It’s hard to laugh with a drill and tongue depressor and mirrors and four hands in your mouth, but I managed it.  I pictured a grand and ancient pterodactyl, brown, with an elongated head and the tiny butt cheeks of a baboon. Except cute and not freaky like baboon butts most certainly are. 

As they continued working on me, I sifted through fragment thoughts in my head, searching for something to take my mind off of the current situation. (As much as I love going to the dentist, and that’s not bullshit people, clean teeth are bitchin;  I do not love the pain that comes with my lack of maintenance as a child.).

That searching is what led me to my respect for the dental profession. As Dr P rested his hand on my face and continued working, I wondered how he felt the first time he ever had to do that.  Before I was a beauty school dropout, I was a beauty school student; and the first time I did a man’s haircut was on my husband.  Poor Bear. It’s what he gets for loving me, and he was really such a good sport about it. I didn’t know what to do with my left hand and Samantha, my instructor, told me to rest it on top of his head. This was fine when it was Bear, but then I practiced on Abe and realized I had to touch his head and felt immediately awkward about it. Worse, I thought, if I can’t touch Abe’s head without weirding out, how am I going to touch a total stranger’s head?! At least I know Abe. We’ve worked together and have been friends for many years.  I’m even Godmother to all of his children.*

This thought brought me to what Dr P must have gone through in dental school and I pictured an instructor handing him a brand new water balloon, and telling him to reach in with two bananas and pull out a BB.  Hence my respect. 

Man it takes me a long time to make a point and for that I apologize.  

*About being Godmother to Abe and Tosh’s children, that was total horse shit. Sorry. Everything else mentioned in this blog was absolute truth though. I only approve of misdemeanor lies. 

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