Wednesday, August 1, 2007
I went to the dentist on Friday. I've always been a good, docile dental patient, even without nitrous oxide or novocaine, but my teeth are shitty because I am kind of ... whimsical about flossing, let's say. Let's also say, just for argument's sake, that I often eat M&Ms in bed after I've already brushed my teeth, and I rationalize not brushing a second time because, I mean, who brushes twice in one night? Therefore, it wasn't a huge shock that the dental hygienist told me that I was on the road to gingivitis.
She was, as she spoke, hacking at my gums with what felt like a miniature scythe, scraping at my teeth with a fervor that reminded me of sophomore year of college, when my friend Charlie and I would hysterically carve the resin out of the bottom of his aged pipe in a desperate attempt to get high before sociology class. When I rinsed and spit, the sink looked like a murder scene. I thought of my favorite scene in "Little Shop of Horrors", when Steve Martin gleefully sings "I thrill when I drill a bicuspid! It's swell thought they tell me I'm mal-ad-justed." That's when she said it.
"Healthy gums don't bleed."
Well, yeah, normally they probably don't. Were my gums to spontaneously display stigmata a la Lindsay Lohan, I would be worried. But after twenty minutes of localized hacking with a sharp metal tool? I'd say my gums put up a pretty good fight.
Oh, well. At least I got a free toothbrush.