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365 Days of Thanksliving — Day 225

Show of hands: Who wakes up downright giddy to go to the dentist?

Jenn, put your hand down. You’re not allowed to answer because your paycheck literally comes from there. Bwahaha!

My friend Jennifer knows exactly how much I look forward to my semi-annual teeth scraping. Which is to say, I'd rather walk barefoot across a floor made of Legos.

To be fair, Jennifer doesn’t inflict any of the actual pain. She’s got a much harder job: managing the front reception area and wrangling cheeky adults like me who are doing mental cartwheels in the lobby trying to escape. Her job is difficult enough. Thank goodness (for me) she’s just one of the gatekeepers to the Grand Inquisitor Torquemada and his merry band of oral torturers.

Jenn, you do know this is ALL sarcasm, right? Actually, hold that thought, ‘cause I’m just getting started.

“The inquisition, let’s begin…. The Inquisition, what a show! The Inquisition, here we go! We know you're wishing that we'd go away. But the Inquisition's here, and it's here to stay!" (Major shout-out to Mel Brooks and History of the World, Part 1 if you caught that).

Anywho… I was one of the first victims this morning: an 0800 appointment. When Jenn offered me that slot, I snagged it, figuring I could get to work somewhat on time. And as any good sailor knows, “Early is on time, and on time is late.” Within minutes, my name was called and I was escorted to “The Chair” to begin the enhanced interrogation. You know exactly how it goes:

“Open wide.”

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape. Wipe.

Pause, as they try to casually converse with you while your mouth is propped open.

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape. Wipe.

Meanwhile, you're sitting there praying that little pointed metal hook doesn't slip and snag your cheek like a walleye hitting a crankbait.

Me? I try to act totally unfazed. I folded my arms and casually “rested” them on my chest. But inside my head? My internal monologue was screaming, gripping imaginary armrests, and just waiting for the inevitable ouch, ouch, ouch.

That dental hook scraper thingy is bad enough. But gracious, don’t even get me started on the floss. Who invented this? “Hey, I got a stellar idea! Let’s force some waxy twine between your teeth, jam it up into your gums, and saw it back and forth until you bleed!” Truly, the Inquisition.

But in all seriousness, my hygienist today was an absolute saint. Hardly a single wince from this giant wimp. She was about my age, so we bonded over our kids and questioned the sanity of anyone choosing to get married during the hottest, swampiest days of the year in venues with zero A/C. (Ahem, Hallie and Grace… and my hygienist’s family, too). Hahaha!

She really did do a phenomenal job. Almost zero pain, except for one good tug in the back forty where apparently I need to step up my tartar game. And the flossing? Well, she got me there. I despise that stuff. In fairness to her, my personal flossing schedule is strictly bi-annual—meaning I only do it when the hygienist does it for me.

But the absolute best part? No blood. Normally, I’m spitting out enough red to ruin a perfectly good paper bib. But today, none. No fleshy clumps, no red spots, nothing. Just a little clear dribble. I’m giving full credit to that new VanMan Miracle Tooth Powder we switched to (which, by the way, is a completely different trip than your standard, run-of-the-mill toothpaste).

So yeah, no ouch, ouch. No blood. Very little pain today at the dentist. And the Grand Inquisitor himself? Downright pleasant today, and he didn’t inflict any agony either.

For all that and a bag of chips, I am super thankful today. Like I said, I normally dread my semi-annual oral excavation. But today? Not so bad. And that, my friends, is absolutely something to thank the Good Lord for, wouldn’t you agree?

Drop your favorite dental horror (or success) story in the comment section below… and tell me why you’re thankful for those pearly whites in your mouth.