Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Talking dirty

Periodontist is the longest four-letter word in the dictionary. Actually, mine is a skilled guy -- for a Navy Seal.

But I’m not as tough as I used to be. Dental work, any kind of dental work, gives me the rigors. Over the years, my gag reflex has become legend. Dentists weep when they discover me in the waiting room.

Yesterday the adventure began as we were getting ready for the Mystery Woman to drive me to the oral surgeon. I was already prepped via a tranquilizer dart. Silly smile.

Just as my mood was getting groovy, our little Dachshund began to yelp when touched. Sympathy, I thought. Not so, countered the Mystery Woman as she dialed the veterinarian and set up an immediate appointment.

The dog’s appointment was the exact same time I was supposed to be at the dentist getting three teeth pulled, bone scraped and stitches. Different parts of town, naturally. And the rigors. Remember, I get the rigors.

There was no hesitation. She held the little doggy and looked me in the eye.

Did you know a cab ride is only fifteen bucks from our condo to the dentist?

PS – the dog is fine; she has a disc problem. I’m fine, too. But we disagree about whether the Mystery Woman was nicer yesterday or the day before.

PPS – if I told you she dropped me off first, the story would suffer. So I won’t.

1 comment:

The South Plainsman said...

You are just lucky she keeps you around~!


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