Ivan: “I’m
going to give you just a little stinger, and then your whole mouth will be
completely numb. How about that?”
I give him
the thumbs up sign from underneath the bib I’m wearing, which at this point is
the only possible way of communicating with him, due to the fact that there are
three different metal objects being inserted into my mouth. Why this man
replaces “shot of Novocain” with “little stinger” is beyond me. Maybe the Ninja Turtle wallet I pulled
out last time I was here made him think I haven’t graduated to “big kid” terms
yet.
For full
effect, go ahead and download any soft rock and roll, 90’s-themed, cornflower
blue background music that fills the airwaves of any dentist’s waiting
room. By the way if you really
want to pee a little bit laughing, go ahead and picture the giant that I am
lying on my back in a dentist’s chair with my mouth wide open and a mask full
of happy gas keeping me calm. Meanwhile Ivan the Great suits up with his
plastic gloves and mouth tools, ready to dissect my upper right molars.
Ivan:
“Alright, so in a few minutes we’re gonna go ahead and replace that onlay on
number 2. How does that sound?”
I try and
smile. But do you have any idea
how hard it is to raise the corners of your mouth when it’s open wide enough to
handle 37 hotdogs? Plus, the wrinkled buttercup hygienist just slurped away the
last drops of saliva from my throat to make sure I won’t drown in my own
spit. Sure Ivan, that sounds
great.
Ivan: “So,
how’s things goin’ these days? How’s work been treatin' you?”
Me: “A aoawa
eeh aw a ew ehs. I uh eer ouw
ehhas oouh.”
Conversations
with dentists usually only include words made up of all vowels. Why Ivan thinks I can answer in
structured sentences doesn’t make much sense.
Ivan:
“That’s great. So we’re gonna go
golfing this weekend, you care to join us?”
Me: “I ou
uhh ooo. Uouaee, I ahh io ehaehs.” Giving this man a yes or no answer would be
much simpler of course, however I’m afraid by jiggling my head around in a certain
direction would only knock out the metal contraption hanging out of my mouth.
Ivan: “So
how’s the love life going? You datin’ anyone these days?”
Why is everyone
and their dentist obsessed with my relations with the opposite sex? It’s like
they live vicariously through me to satisfy the single creatures living
underneath their own skin, every one of them having a secret solution for finding
my soul mate.
Me: “Ell, I
I ah I eh iws aah I aeh. I uhh aoee ah eioo uhh. Ah ooh?
Ending that
last vowel with my voice going up is hopefully a strong enough indication that
I asked Ivan a question.
Ivan: “Yeah,
well she’s out there somewhere.
You just have to keep looking.”
Me: “Oh, o
ih ah-owe.’
He pauses
and gives me a strange look, his four enhanced eyeballs having a staring contest
with the little dangly thing that’s not really dangling in the back of my
throat. Part of me wonders if he caught my response as the all-vowel curse word
I was intending. The other part of me wants to braid his nosehairs I’ve been staring
at for over an hour.
Ivan: “Well,
I sure know some sweet ladies to line you up with if you’d like, one in
particular actually. Can you see yourself with a 40-year old?”
If I were
Barney Stinson, forty would be my thirty.
And who do you think you’re going to line me up with, a widow from
Mesquite with 13 cats? I want to get to know a woman for who she is right now
in her life, not help her son log all of the hours for his driving permit.
Me: “O A, O
EH!”
Great! I’ll
get you her number once we’re done here. I’m sure you two will hit it off and
really fit each other.”
I wince in
agony and my eyes start watering.
Me: “I aw
aeh. I o aw eh ueh!”
Ivan: “Oh,
sorry about that, let me give you another little stinger to numb that up
again.”
He doesn’t
know it, but my broken tooth isn’t the reason I’m in pain right now.
0 comments:
Post a Comment