Getting Screwed by the Dentist

I'm breaking up with my Dentist.  Whom I used to love. 

What’s not to love about a dental practice that offers freshly baked cookies for patients?  You can apply sugar to your clean sparkly teeth before you even leave the place!

It is important to know that I was raised on well water.  I’m so old that fluoride wasn’t invented until I already had more cavities than teeth.  

And by the time I was 40 I had more crowns than Medieval England.

I started seeing my dentist, let call him “Dr. T”, 17 years ago when I first moved to Columbia.  Dr. T is not only an outstanding dentist, he’s an aesthetic dentist.  Which means his office is C*O*V*E*R*E*D with posters of beautiful people with even more beautiful smiles.

Which also means that I’ve been encouraged to get braces for 17 years.

“I’m not getting braces,” I tell Dr. T on every visit.  I remind him that if I was going to invest my money in aesthetics I’d get plastic surgery. 

Plus, I’m OK with the fact that my face will not be plastered on a poster in his waiting room.  Next to the cookies. 

During a routine visit 15 months ago, I told Dr. T’s hygienist that I had been experiencing pain in one of my back teeth.  She and Dr. T. carefully inspected the tooth and saw no visible signs of decay.  They concluded that I did not have a cavity. Rather, I had a "bruised tooth".  Dr. T. assured me that it would get better and to call them if it didn’t.  

Or if I changed my mind about braces.    

Eight months later I returned for another routine appointment, where X-Rays were taken.  As the hygienist examined them, she said, “This looks interesting.”  

(I do not want to have interesting dental X-Rays.  I want boring X-Rays.)

Sadly, Dr. T agreed with the hygienist.  You see, my tooth was completely decayed and needed to be extracted.  And, worse yet, I had to get a DENTAL IMPLANT.   

He added that if I ever wanted to get braces, this was the perfect time.

I soon learned that getting an implant is a very expensive and lengthy process which involves inserting a screw into your bone and ultimately placing a crown atop the screw.  

  

Dr. T referred me to a different dentist to whom I paid more than $3,000 to get screwed.   

I returned to Dr. T yesterday to get my mouth molded for the crown to place atop the screw that has been protruding from my gum for a month. 

After sitting through 4 different mouth molds I was sent to the front office to check out.

The Front Office Manager, let’s call her “Esmeralda”, informed me that the total cost for my new crown would be $2,300.  I gulped and asked for a discount.  

On-accounta-the-fact that IT WAS NOT A BRUISED TOOTH AND IF THEY HAD DONE A DAMN X-RAY 15 MONTHS AGO THEY WOULD HAVE SEEN A TEENY TINY CAVITY THAT COULD HAVE BEEN FILLED.

Esmeralda told me she would discuss it with Dr. T and call me back.

She phoned just an hour later to remind me that I had been offered an X-RAY during my exam the previous year and had refused it.  

Say-what?  Why in the hell would I refuse an X-RAY when I had a tooth ache?

Esmeralda also told me that Dr. T. had also adjusted my bite that day and told me to call if I had any problems and they never heard from me. 

Adjusted my bite?  What the flip does that mean?  I googled it and to find that adjusting my bite involves drilling.  

Dr. T did not drill me.

When I told Esmeralda that those stories were fiction she got all bitchy with me and basically said too bad so sad and stop shooting the messenger.   And I'm stuck.

I have one final visit to Dr. T’s office on August 29, when he will again make me royalty by placing a crown atop a screw sticking out of my gum.  I will pay $2,300 for that service.  

But I am taking every last one of those stinkin’ cookies on the way out the door. 

More from the Drinking Buddies

Becca was momentarily stunned when she noticed Josh hanging onto my kitchen light for dear life.



"What's wrong?" I asked.

"You've got a guy hanging from your light."

"Oh!" I said.  "That's Josh.  Chad's on the other side.  And Mitch and Chad #2 are climbing up my Eiffel Tower wine cork holder."

Becca should not have been surprised.  She knows me well enough.  You see, my Drinking Buddies have kind of taken over where Barbie left off.  Occasionally making an appearance in a blog post.. But between blogs, I let them hang out wherever they choose.  Like on the lamps in my family room.  Or on my Amazon Banana Slicer. 

"They're cute," Becca observed.  "Yeah," I agreed.  "And you really can't have too many Drinking Buddies."

Especially when your daughter is getting married.  I mean, just think how easy it would be to lose track of your drink at wedding!  But no worries for me.  I have my Drinking Buddies.

Not to mention the fact that they'll fit right in at a Thai Beach wedding in their Speedos.

I have 12 Drinking Buddies, which will be enough for 1 table.  Guests at the other tables will just have to be careful with their drinks.

Our table will be all set.  No mixed up drinks to worry about.

Uh-oh.  I just thought of something.

I have two complete sets of six Drinking Buddies.  Which means I have six pair of Drinking Buddy twins.

What if two people with the same Drinking Buddy get their drinks mixed up?

OMG!

That would be a problem for an ordinary Mother of the Bride. But I'm not an ordinary Mother of the Bride.  I'm Lou Clyde. 

And I have a Sharpie.


And, well, it turns out that half of my Drinking Buddies have chest hair!

I can see it now.  Kimmy and I return to the table after dancing to Love Shack on the beach.  "Mom.  Which Mitch Drinking Buddy is yours?"

I smile confidently and say, "The one who waxed."

Getting Back on the Horse

I wasn't sure I was ready to dust off my Pogo Stick and jump rope.  After all, I had just had Rotator Cuff surgery in December.

But I listed that skill on my audition sheet for the Hunchback of Notre Dame.  If I get cast it will undoubtedly be because of my Pogo Stick prowess.

Certainly not because of my vocals.

On top of that I had to open my big fat mouth to Keela.  Now, apparently, I'm performing at a United Way talent show at work.

I wasn't even sure I could still do it.  My friend George told me that if I 'used to could' jump rope on a Pogo Stick', I probably could still do it.

That's easy for him to say.

I told Dave about my conundrum and he flat out told me that I was getting too old for such nonsense.

"What?"  I was appalled and insulted.  "I used to be really good at it."

George's voice echoed in my head.  I used to could jump rope on a Pogo Stick.  

What if my jump rope Pogo Sticking days were over?

There was only one way to tell.  I grabbed my Pogo Stick from the closet and headed through the kitchen.  

"What if you get hurt?" Dave asked.

"What could possibly happen?" I responded.  I was really starting to get annoyed with him. I opened the back door, Pogo Stick in hand, ready to take the leap.

Seriously.  How could I get hurt jump roping on a Pogo Stick?  I just had to make sure I maintained sufficient height so the jump rope didn't catch on the bottom of the Pogo Stick.

Because, of course, if that happened, the jump rope would pull the Pogo Stick backward, which would launch me forward.  And cause me to land on my face.  On the driveway.  Re-injuring my shoulder.  Or breaking my wrist.   Or my neck.  And I'd have to call to Dave for help.

"Do you have your button?"  Dave hollered to me.

I reopened the door.  "What????"

"Your I've fallen and I can't get up button....do you have it?"

"You are hysterical.  Not."  I slammed the door.

I looked at my Pogo Stick.  It had never let me down.  Not when I was performing at that Gong show in the '80s.  Not when I did my shtick at Kimmy's Kindergarten class in 1993.  And certainly not in front of sold-out audiences at 15 damn performances of Gypsy seven years ago.

I picked up my jump rope and rested it on my shoulders.  I climbed aboard my trusty Pogo Stick and began to hop.  Higher and higher.  I used my knees to hold the Pogo Stick upright, grabbed the jump rope and began to swing it.

One.  Two.  Three.  Four.  Five.

That's enough.

I dismounted and parked my Pogo Stick, resting the jump rope over the handle. 

I limped into the house screaming, "DAVE!!!!  HELP!  I NEED ICE!  AND BAND AIDS.  LOTS OF THEM."

Dave raised his eyebrow.  

 "And wine."  

I had something to celebrate.

My Toilet Paper Origami Groove

I honestly don't recall purchasing the Toilet Paper Origami book.  I had probably intended to "delight my guests with fancy folds."  But based on the folded up piece of toilet paper on page 15, I hadn't gotten very far.

But that was then and this is now.  And I am far more talented and crafty than I was when I purchased the book.  

Whenever the hell that was.

And Kimmy is working at a fancy-ass hotel in Maine this summer.  Maybe when I go visit her next month I can offer my services.

I could either create the origami toilet paper art myself or train her Housekeeping staff. Which ever they prefer.

That's how accommodating I am.

I started by making a rose. 

I have to admit, it was a little rough.  

Hey! I could have lied and said I started with a bunny rabbit who lost his bonnet.  But I didn't.

And did I give up?  Hell no!

Since the hotel is in Maine, I decided to create a sail boat.

That was so easy, I made a lovely maiden.

Then I started to get into my Toilet Paper Origami groove. The maiden needed a flower atop her head.  It was almost perfect.

But something was missing.  One more detail.  

I added Josh, one of my drinking buddies to the mix and achieved TOILET PAPER ORIGAMI PERFECTION.

I was so proud.  And happy.   Knowing just how blown away Kimmy and her Housekeeping staff will be when I offer my services next month.

But I was exhausted.  All that folding was way too much for my poor fingers.   

I thought again about about that fancy-ass Maine hotel. 

All those bathrooms. 

I may need to simplify my design if I have any chance of finishing up in time for Happy Hour.

The Intern

Those jokers at the Japan Trend Shop are so funny!  They come up with the best products.  Like the crazy Mousou Bust Under Boobs T-Shirt: Exposed female chest joke clothing.

I mean, who wouldn't want to wear this to Food Lion on a Sunday morning?

What I wouldn't give to hang out with their Marketing people.  Maybe go for a cup of coffee.  Or a sushi.

Because they're always thinking!  Finding ways to extend their product lines. I mean, check out this Cat Tail Baby Romper!   It's genius!  I only wish it was available in my size.  I would love to wear it to work.

There must be an Intern working in the Japan Trend Shop Marketing department this summer.  I think that the Mousou Exposed Butt T-Shirt has missed the mark.  Am I the only one who thinks it looks more like nipple-less boobs than a butt?

At least it's creative.  

It must be hard to be an intern at the Japan Trend Shop.  Surrounded by all those Marketing geniuses.  

You know, I wouldn't completely abandon the idea.  Maybe if it had a tail....

My Secret Weapon

In my defense, my mouth has more food traps than the average street person.  My nightly dental hygiene routine, which begins at 11 PM, takes me through the weather on the evening news.

Regular toothbrush.  Proxy brush.  Sonic Toothbrush.  Dental Floss. Mouthwash.

It's a battle.  But I emerge victoriously.  Only the most shrewd food particles remain unscathed through the Proxy brush assault, and most of the remaining fugitives are captured during the Sonic Toothbrush skirmish.  The few, the proud, the Marine-like morsels that make it past the Sonic Toothbrush are lassoed by the dental floss.  Any and all survivors get swept away in the mouthwash tsunami.

By the time Ben Tanner gives the 5-day extended forecast, my teeth sparkle like a Disney princess.

Or like this.

I have another weapon in my arsenal that I rely on in certain combat conditions.

Remember Rosa Klebb's Flick Knife Shoes?

My secret weapon is even more impressive.  Except it's no longer secret.

Because, unfortunately, Kimmy and Linda have witnessed me wielding my weapon.

And they are completely disgusted.

I have no idea why the sight of me pulling an earring from my earlobe to dislodge a piece of food cowering between 2 molars would upset them.

And they get so annoyingly passionate about the whole thing.

"Mom!  That is SO NASTY!!!"   
"I am going to barf."

Lighten up, guys.  It works.  And it's at my fingertips.

When I earringed a furtive Jelly Belly particle taking cover in a hidden cranny on the bottom left side of my mouth, both girls started in on me.

As if there was a law regulating dental hygiene tools.

Luke pointed out the box of tooth picks  placed conveniently next to the Jelly Belly jar on the table.

But who knows where those toothpicks have been.  I know where my earrings have been.

Plus think of how many trees were cut down to make those toothpicks.  No trees were sacrificed to make my earrings.

And they're reusable.  I dare say they will never wear out.

Truth be told, I am a bit disappointed in my daughters.  They are myopic in their thinking and clearly have not inherited my marketing genius.

Because, I have a scathingly brilliant idea!

The Greeting Card

I happened upon the soon to be closed Hallmark store by accident.   I would have walk past had I not noticed the "90% off Entire Store" sign in the window.

As you would imagine, the store was 1) a mad house and 2) completely picked over.

In fact, the remaining inventory was extremely targeted.  Cards like:

• Congrats on coming out!
• Get well after your brain surgery!
• Congrats on the birth of your triplet boys!

And, of course, the congrats on your dance recital card:

Was I discouraged?  Of course not.  I persevered in my search for 90% off cards that would some day be relevant to me.

I snatched up a sympathy card for losing your pet hamster.  My nephew had one.  It, surely, would not outlive me.  I passed on the 'Congrats on buying your new unicycle' card and the inspirational, 'You can beat Lime Disease' cards.

There were a few "normal" cards but they were well hidden.  I found an adorable baby card stuck between two 5,000 piece puzzles boxes and a retirement card in the 'Congrats on your Bris' section.

About 6 months later somebody at work had a baby and I went to my 90% off Hallmark card pile and found that baby card.  

Oops.

Alas, I had to drive to Food Lion and spend $4.00 on a baby card.

Fast forward several years and Kimmy texted a picture of the card to me with this note, "Just found this while looking for a blank card to give to Jenn.  Were you planning on giving it to Linda or me?"

And she added the most annoying emoticon.

I responded, "So, Linda didn't tell you?"

Kimmy, who clearly inherited my brains, and not my gullibility texted me, "So you didn't have your reading glasses with you on that shopping trip?"

Oh, well.  I'll get even with her.  I've got the perfect card:  "Sorry to hear that you've been cut out of the will."