20 March 2009

A dentist in my hula hoop

I went to the dentist on Monday and was pleasantly surprised that the dental hygeinist that I previously described as having the “warmth of a snake with a belly ache” is actually a wonderful person. At second glance she has the warmth of a freshly baked muffin. She applauded my fine flossing technique.

Hey, you jam a metal pick into my gums and you definetely get my attention and I become a flossin' fiend forever more! As usual, they keep the temperature somewhere around Frigid and when I mentioned the icicles forming on my fingers they offered me a blanket.

Not JUST a blanket, it was like a twin-sized swatch of fluffy heaven. The underside was as soft as a puppy’s ear and less likely to pee on my lap or nibble my baseboards. I fell in love with that blanket so completely that I thought, “toothbrush goodie bag be damned, I’m leaving with this blanket!” I tried to walk out casually with it thrown around my shoulders. When questioned I informed the office staff that I came in with it and it was part of my superhero costume, my cape of Great Hope. They weren’t buying it. As I tried to beat a hasty retreat they stood on the hem, snapping me back into the office.

"You almost forgot to make your follow-up appointment!" said they.

Super Haiku Girl is foiled again! But, I’ll be back!

And, for your edification and enjoyment:

A Dental Haiku:

Plaque be damned, I floss
Not even popcorn can hide
I love that mint Glide!

I find it interesting that the dental hygenist has a name that is frequently shortened to the moniker, “Candy”. It makes me wonder if she is secretly at home crafting taffeys and caramels-all a part of our dental downfall, just to ensure her job security.

Speaking of names, they call the Dentist Dr.Joe, a tradition I will continue here unless he wants a free plug for his gig. Every. Single. Time I hear them call him "Dr. Joe" it makes me think of Dr. Ruth, so I have to think of it like this:

"Dr. Joe, who is taller, more masculine and less German than Dr. Ruth. Oh, and whose speciality seems to be teeth, not bedroom antics" which makes it so much more mental work than just calling him Dr. Lastname.

But, what do I know?!

And, speaking of people who are all up in my grille of late, I went to Wal-Mart tonight, that bastion of all that makes me balk, to stock up on shaving crème.

It’s just like Alanis Morisette said, I had a cabinet full of razors and a simple smattering of shaving crème. So, off to the evil empire. As I stood in the aisle, perusing my potential purchase I was accosted by this woman who kept moving closer and closer with each breath.

She stood to my right and moved right into my personal space. She kept peering closer and closer as she gazed into my chest. I looked into her face and was met with the gaping maw that, in better days, probably hosted her teeth, but now held only the memories of dentin past. I nervously thought, “Look, lady, you can have the last can of Flirty Mango with Olive Butter (WTF is olive butter, anyway?!) Skintimate shave crème, I’ll let it go if you will just GET UP OFF OF ME!”

Instead I kept moving my torso backward, although my feet remained planted firmly within aisle five. As she continued to advance I realized that I was getting dangerously close to doing a backbend and I had yet to put my arms up to catch myself in graceful backward descent. She was, firmly and without apology, within my hula hoop. Now, for those of you who don't know about your own hula hoops, it is a technique we use with clients/children of clients to teach them about their personal space and how they can safeguard it. In short, people are only allowed "inside your hula hoop" if you give them permission. I am most certain that my perusal of shaving products did not constitute an endorsement of her advances.

Suddenly she blurted out, “Is that necklace of yours supposed to be apart like that?” I told her that, indeed it was and she scuttled off, no doubt to help other customers who required a Wal-Mart employee peering into their breasts.

In other news, Kirk Cameron owes me two dollars and sixteen cents.

I take paypal.

I was schnuckered into watching that stupid FireProof movie. OhmyNOODness! That right there is two hours of my life that I will never get back. First of all, I wasn't able to suspend disbelief long enough to buy Kirk Cameron as a manly firefighter. If they had cast him in a role of telemarketer perhaps, or the guy who dresses up like a hotdog for some restaurant, okay, but a FIREMAN?!?! No, not happening.

Here is a man who clearly does not wrinkle the sheets, ifyouknowwhatImean.