I am a dental vagina

I had invasive dental work done about ten days ago and again about three days ago.  The good news here is that, at 40, I am no longer making new cavities; but I am now having work done on all the old crappy ones from a reckless, floss-less childhood.  I thought the assistant who gave me a pain pill prescription was maybe over dramatizing things a bit, but I filled the scrip and THANK GOD or Allah or the Flying Spaghetti Monster.  Sadly I do not remember her name to thank her personally in this post. 

Anyway, my point is that my teeth, jaw, ears and head have hurt like a mad bastard for the past week and a half, and that, apparently, I am a huge dental vagina. It’s amazing really; I can sit under a tattoo needle for 8 hours and am fine the next day.  But 60 minutes in the dentist’s chair and I am fucked.  

If I can divert slightly, is it weird that my three favorite “maintaining your body and health” places to be all involve a chair?  I’m either sitting in Hollys chair having my teeth cleaned, or sitting in Samantha’s chair having my hair beautified, or sitting in Mikes chair, being colored on.  Chairs, man. It’s a little creepy.  Like maybe in my own little Jess’s Mess universe, the chair is a holy and worshipped symbol.  Ooh, kinda like Buddha, only less cute. 

The moral of the story here, friends and neighbors is this: when your mom or dental professional tells you to brush four minutes and floss every day, DO IT. The negligence is not worth the pain.   At my old dentist office Dr B had little messages on all the lamps, so you could read them while laying in the chair. My favorite one said “You don’t have to floss all your teeth; only the ones you want to keep!” I didn’t start flossing faithfully until I was 30 and it’s something I learned in Maryann’s chair. So thank you Maryann. I’m sure I could be feeling much worse if it weren’t for you. 

Ps. Interesting side note: I also used to have a gynecologist who had things written on the ceiling of every office, so that you could read them while being, ahem, maintained. My favorite one said, “I hate this.” 

Pps.  Please note that the gyno chair is not on my list of favorite chairs. I’m not even sure why I felt it necessary to point that out. 

Ppps. No offense intended to any of those gyno chair enthusiasts out there. Keep on keepin on ladies. 


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