fine whine

I don't like going to the dentist any more than the next guy, but I'd probably say something about my visits being relatively painless. The worst part for me is generally the wait. This time around I got there, read through half of a magazine or two, and then made small talk with the assistant (whatever they're called) about homeownership and lawn care. So, I guess, score one for buying a house; it gives me something about which to talk to people. After all, there are an awful lot of people out there who own houses. So now I guess I don't need to maintain even my peripheral knowledge of reality television and sporting events.

Woo hoo.

So anyway I was sitting there talking to her and the dentist shows up and continues the landscaping discussion with something about slit-seeding and the like and somehow segues into flossing. I'm a lazy flosser, but I guess I do well enough otherwise because he didn't give me much of a lecture and instead just sort of conversed with me about the lastest advances in home dental care (they have machines that floss for you, it seems) as though I was some sort of model patient and I played along, all the while staring just past his head at the ceiling. It may have been genuine (he did say that he saw nothing much that concerned him in my mouth) or it may be a new tactic the mouthketeers are trying, but either way I left feeling like I'd be letting the guy down if I didn't get around to starting a better cleaning regimen for my mouth.

Of course, I'll change nothing. That was yesterday, and I've already lost the floss and whatnot that they gave me.