Yesterday I went in for a consultation about having my wisdom teeth removed. For whatever reason, I didn't have them removed when I was younger. Maybe it had something to do with dental insurance, or maybe I just was afraid of looking all chipmunked. Whatever the reason, I didn't get it done. If they had started to affect my nice straight teeth (thanks to five years of braces) I would have most definitely had them removed. But they're still impacted (is that right? they haven't broken through yet), and don't bother me.
I listen to the oral surgeon say something like, "When you get into the third and fourth decade of life then having your wisdom teeth pulled can pose some risks." First, I think: HOLD ON. I'm not in my third decade of life! Don't age me before my birthday, thank you very much. And then I do the math and realize that I've been in the third decade of life since I was 20. So, okay. I can take that news.
I'm signing forms about all the possible side effects -- including death -- and distractedly say, "Maybe I should have had this done a long time ago." He says, "Well, that's all water under the bridge now." He's a clever one, that dentist of mine.
I had figured this little consultation would only take a few minutes, but 90 minutes later I was still there being regaled with options of anesthetics. Ugh. Just needle me up and give me some earphones so I don't have to listen to my teeth being cracked out of my head. As long as I have a nice prescription for some heavy duty drugs, I think I'll make it through.
So I sit there and listen and listen and listen. Trying to convince them that really, dentists don't bother me. I'm not freaked out. I've been going to the dentist my entire life. I'm freakish gleeful about getting my teeth cleaned. And when we finally get around to talking about making the appointment, it's way the heck the beginning of next year. Well, that's no good because according to my calendar of Life Events I'll be pregnant. "Oh," says the assistant, "you can't have your wisdom teeth taken out when you're pregnant." Really? All that Percoset isn't good for babies? How about if I just kill the pain with a strong martini? (I jest. Really.)
She tells me to come back in next summer for another consultation.
You're killing me, Smalls.
Okay, so maybe dentists bother me a little.