Today, I went to the dentist. I hate the dentist. Why? Well, for one I hate the accusatory looks and questions. Like, "Well, I see you have some receding gums (which I'm already sensitive about) do you floss?" To which I answer, "Yep, every night." To which they reply, "Every night?" I then say, "Yes, every night." And then they say, while getting out the torture towel and bucket of water, "Every night?" What do these people want me to say? "Okay, there was that one Friday night when I got strangely involved into a Lifetime movie and decided swishing warm water in my mouth was going to be my nightly cleaning." Seriously.
I also hate the entire cleaning process. I hate the suction tube that always gets left in my throat, I hate the cool air on my teeth, I hate the chipping away of my tartar, and I hate the different levels of "opening one's mouth" we are all supposed to know. Like how am I supposed to know that "Please open your mouth" actually means tilt your head back and show me the inside of your esophagus? And yet, "Please open your mouth" can also mean, just slightly release your jaw muscles so I can look at your first molar. There really should be signs.
And lastly, I hate the up sale at the end. Today's up sale: some stupid scrap that removes all the bacteria that accumulates at the back of your tongue, which causes bad breathe. As I sat there telling them politely no, I started to think, "Do I have bad breathe and that's why they are trying to sell me this?" I swear this office gives me a complex every time I leave. They either convince me I have early signs of pyorrhea (google it) and if I don't start wearing a full facial head gear I'm going to lose all my teeth, or my teeth are so yellow that it's almost a crime I haven't broken down and gotten them bleached. Why can't they just say, "Teeth are still there. You can still chew. Here's a toothbrush in a little bag?"
I hate the dentist.