Open Wide

There are aspects of bodily upkeep and maintenance that, as an adult, I suck at. Teeth maintenance is the worst. I’m not a fan of the dentist, and I’m not a fan of scheduling things six months out. Hell, I can barely figure out what I’m going to write on this blog day by day, let alone plan for the future. (For further failings, see the Children’s College Fund section of my life)

Hmm, perhaps this problem actually reaches further than the dentist? Either way, we’ll just keep that between me and you. There’s no need to get others involved. Like mothers (all it takes is an M). I mentioned to her I have what I believe is an abcess on one of my molars.

The conversation went downhill pretty quickly.

“After all the money me and your father put into your mouth…”

“I can’t believe you would let this happen…”

And so on, and so on. The guilt trip boards in five minutes ladies and gentlemen. A free ticket is waiting for you sir, just get on board. While beautiful women in bikinis serve you drinks, they ridicule you at the same time. They feed you grapes while they read your unpaid bills aloud. They describe for you, in detail, your shortcomings all while fellatio is being performed in earnest. Have you ever heard hummed failings? It’s a terrible thing.

But I digress.

I want the dentist to serve as a mechanic, not as a groomer. I want my body fixed the same way. The idea of a Family Doctor left my vocabularly years ago. I even took a stab at attaining one earlier this year, thinking that the benefit of knowing the singular person you rely on for healthcare and body upkeep would be a good thing. What surprised me was the process involved. I had to come in and basically get interviewed to become a patient!

Seriously, I had to just show up, with no ailments, to see if the guy might treat me later.

This is Evan laughing. This is Evan hanging up. This is Evan going to the clinic where he can get help on demand. You know, just like a search engine does (what we used to call the Yellow Pages). You need something, you go get it with a text box. A phone call. A short ride over. Time is too short in this crazy world to bother with doctor interviews.

Dentists, on the other hand, are either full or unfull (which I know isn’t a word—work with me here). They’ll look at your teeth no matter who you are, take the right x-rays and look at the right places to fix you up and send you on your way. They don’t discriminate (much) and as long as you have the coin, they have the time.

I won’t say it was a pleasure making the appointment, but after 5+ years of no dentistry, I’m anxious to get in there. That, my friends, is the difference between childhood and adulthood. When you get jazzed about tooth cleanings and cavity drillings, a switch has turned over in your head. The bar is locked across your midriff. The ride will not come to a complete stop.

You’re off in the deep end, and the next stop is Novacaine Station. Tickets please.

This is the last song
That I’ll dedicate to you