Vreee, Vreeeeee! That’s what I think a dentist drill sounds like. And this isn’t really a horror story, so much as a gross, annoying story.
I set my alarm for 5am this morning so that I could be on time for a 7am appointment with the dental hygienist. I didn’t drink any coffee because I thought it was really nice that another human being would poke around in my saliva-y mouth at 7am, and my gift for this generosity was a lack of coffee breath fumes wafting into her face. photo source
I let the dental hygienist talk me into a fluoride treatment, which cost me $42 out of pocket…grrr…being a grown-up sucks some days. I remember fluoride treatments from when I was a kid: The dentist squirts the foam into the squishy mouth-guard thing, you sit for 30-60 seconds and then you can’t eat or drink for 30 minutes. No biggie, right?
But now they have this brush-on crud, and emphasis on CRUD. She brushs this nasty “mint” paste on my teeth (I don’t know who thinks that tastes like any mint found in nature or lab), and then tells me to avoid brushing my teeth and drinking hot liquids (READ: coffee) for FOUR HOURS. I shell out my $42 and shamble out to the car. I run my tongue lightly over my film-encrusted teeth and shudder. All I want to do is spit and spit and spit; there’s no way I’m swallowing with this crap in my mouth. How am I going to last for four hours at work with this crud on my teeth?
I’m driving toward work and I notice the roof of my mouth feels filmy, so I take my index finger and rub the soft tissue. I look at my finger, and it’s covered in this white stuff that looks and feels like candle wax…ewww, ewww, ewww! I get to work and everywhere the smell of coffee calls to me. The gentle sound of water flowing through grounds into coffee pots tickles my ear. And my mouth tastes like waxy rot. Mint-ish waxy rot, but waxy rot nonetheless. I look at my watch…only 3 1/2 hours to go.
Argh!
Three minutes later I emerge from the bathroom – toothbrush in hand – with clean, smooth, shiny teeth. My mouth is now filled with the familiar chemical-tasting mint of my regular toothpaste, and I’ve just washed $42 worth of waxy fluoride paste down the sink. I’m divided in my emotions – sad that I’ve wasted four movies worth of money (or a new snorkel for dive class), happy that I can have coffee and not be grossed out by my filmy, wax rot teeth.
And then I start to wonder: Did she say four hours…or for an hour?
