I went to the dentist recently for a routine cleaning. He has a new hygienist with the warmth of a snake with a bellyache. She 'accidentally' jammed the metal pick into my tender gumflesh. After I pleaded with her to be more careful with my pitiful bleat of a "hey!" she sidled off, other patients to torture, other gums to pick.
The dentist came in and the first thing he said was, "so, do you still want to move back to Illinois?" I was stunned. I didn't even realize that he knew that I was from Illinois, let alone have been longing to return. As I spoke to a friend on the phone, musing as to how the dentist could have come across such personal information, she asked,"the last time you saw him......were you on drugs?"
Thank you, Becky, for pointing out that it was probably just another one of my inebriated rants that gave him a clue. I'm none too sure, but I suspect that it played out like this:
"Hi, Dr., yes, I am getting pretty numb. What did I have for breakfast? Oh, just the Valium you prescribed. No, I don't feel much of anything. By the way, I wanna move back to Illinois, some days I don't floss and in 6th Grade I let Jessica cheat off my paper in History class and in high school when I told my mom that I was spending the night at Amy's house we were really on the Freeburg Bridge drinking Bartles and James wine coolers and eating Doritos. Oh, and one more thing: I let the dogs out. It was me."