Because my madcap adventures never stop, I had a dental cleaning yesterday. Oh, June, that’s crazy.
I’ve been going to a new place because the dentist I went to for 11 years had a hygienist who talked endlessly. I don’t mean she talked a bit. SHE TALKED ENDLESSLYYYYYYY. Plus, it hurt when she did my teeth. Probably because she was talking and not paying attention.
So some years back I screwed up all my courage and called the office. “Yes. Um. Next time I go in, may I be scheduled with Muta instead of Chattina?” And they did it. I was so sweaty asking for that, worrying they’d say, “But why?”
And the next time I went in there, I was cleaned by Muta. Oh, she was wonderful. She spoke occasionally like a normal person, and the whole experience was lovely.
Then the next time I went in there, everyone was out for a funeral except Chattina, whom they decided should stay behind and man the office. Gee. Why. Why didn’t they want her along at the funeral, do you think? Why’d that person die, do you think? Did he or she die of chatting?
So she cleaned me to the tune of This is My Life Story Told in Painstaking Detail, and I did not make an appointment when I left. I thought I was so clever with that tactic. But when I DID call to make the appointment with Muta, a few months later they called to remind me of my “cleaning with Chattina.”
GOD DAMMIT. And that’s why I picked up my teeth and headed to a new office. And oh, this new hygienist is wonderful. She doesn’t hurt at all, and she’s pleasant but not talky, which may have something to do with the fact that I told her halfway through, “You know what I like about you? You take time to enjoy the silence.” And she agreed that talking endlessly was draining on her as well. And then it was super extra quiet and I felt bad. They probably have a note on my chart: VOW OF SILENCE PATIENT.
Our problem, and by “our” I mean women in America, is we feel the need to talk to establish that we like each other. Silence is only for when we’re pissed. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”
But really, when you actually like someone and feel comfortable around them, you can have an hour of silently doing your thing while the other person does their thing (in my head when I picture this, one person is teaching a chicken how to dance and the other is knitting Bible covers. You know how I say you never want to be in my head?) and it’s perfectly fine.
Why can’t we do that with our hairdresser, our hygienist, our manicurist? Why can’t we be all, “You do your thing and Ima read this Chicken Dance magazine”? Why isn’t that better than, “Did you have good holidays?” “Oh, ya. We ate a lot. Hah hah. You?”
Anyway, of course I need crown replacements for all the crowns I got years ago, and I love how when you’re paying $49,000 for those crowns they don’t mention they’ve got maybe 20 years on them.
Also, the free toothbrush they give you? Every time they give me one, I base how well my next six months are gonna go on the color of the toothbrush they give me. Like, royal blue? Price is Right losing horn.
Orange? Jesus, just put me in a coma for six months.
But this time? I got a lavender toothbrush! Ooooo, good times are headed my way!
Also at my dentist they give you a small tube of lip balm that I really like. This time my flavor options were citrus, ass and almond swirl. I went for almond swirl.
So that sums up my trip to the dentist, and I thank you for your attention to this pressing matter.