Monday I took the afternoon off to go to the dentist, foolishly believing it to be the end of this particular procedure. After taking the chair and having my mouth painfully numbed, I discovered this was part two of a series. This week they filled my mouth with spackle and tile grout and topped it off with a plastic temporary crown. My pain technicians spent an hour apparently making bets on how much machinery they could shove into my mouth, then glued a temporary tooth on the remains of the original, scheduled yet another appointment and charged me nearly $800. To top things off, they informed me that too much of the tooth had to be removed to support a porcelain crown, so I’ll be getting a gold one instead. Yes! One step closer to becoming a bona fide pirate. Of course it’s a molar and you won’t be able to see it unless you shine a light in my mouth, but it will be there nonetheless.
I have mixed feelings about all this. On one hand, although I do kind of enjoy the low level residual pain and soreness after the procedures, I hate the actual surgery and going to the dentist in general just like a normal person. On the other hand, I love getting the chance to see Dr. View and her nubile dental assistant. The hygienist is lovely, but Dr. View is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen (no hyperbole here). I actually made sure I wore my best office attire (charcoal pants and a black golf shirt) to her office; part of me wished I owned a tuxedo. I’m not so deluded as to think I really have any chance of scoring a date with her (it’s hard to be suave when the object of your desire has her long, delicate fingers stuffed in your mouth), but I still found myself seeking her approval. In addition to my appearance, I tried to engage her in some intelligent conversation about my teeth so she would have to talk to me. Naturally, I opened my mouth and “I love you” spilled out.
Okay, that didn’t really happen. If it did I would have to commit suicide or leave the planet or both. Instead, in the middle of talking cavities and crowns I let “I lo…” slip out, then I caught myself and hemmed and hawed the my expression into a lame question, I think asking if they took Discover (they do). I’m not sure why I almost said that. I don’t love her. I don’t even know her. I just think she’s really sexy in a cherubic sort of way. I wonder if it would harm our professional relationship if I asked for a hug after each filling, or if she wouldn’t mind scheduling a different outfit for our time together? She makes a lab coat look really good, but I really want her to work on me wearing a cheerleader’s outfit, or maybe a private schoolgirl uniform.
Sadly, most of the time I spend looking at her is when she is wearing her mask. I love watching the sheen of the overhead lights skate over her silky hair (this time she had it in a ponytail), or looking at the skin on her neck, cheeks, and forehead and marveling at how flawless and untouched by makeup it all is, or just gazing into her almond shaped eyes, bright as wet coal, but unfortunately those bug-eyed operating glasses of hers throw back my own reflection, focused on my open mouth filled with tubes and dental machinery. Usually I just sit there with my eyes closed, and sneak peeks at her between pain inflictions.
So today I’m back at work with pain in my jaw and an ache in my heart and nether regions. I have about three weeks before I get my gold tooth and have another chance to impress her with my ability to pay for a lot of dental torture (so far so good). I wonder if I should bring flowers the next time, or just whip out a kazoo and serenade her with a little death metal in between drillings?
Whipped, out
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2 comments:
I say you should throw caution to the wind and sport the garb on display here in your profile picture. Women (especially, beautiful, cherubic types) can't get enough of that look on a dude.
Question: Would it not have been simpler (though as expensive) to just have had the thing yanked and replaced with an implant? The big city pain techs can manage that in two sittings and you're still guaranteed some amount of joyous pain for your troubles.
Once I caught dengue fever, and during my stay in the hospital, I fell in love with my doctor. I don't know what had me sicker, if the actual illness, or knowing that I looked like death warmed over and that this beautiful creature was there examining every inch of my body and that despite my pain i would never even get the comfort of knowing that he thought i was cute. Such pleasure in pain...
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