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The Dreaded Things of Life by J. G. Fabiano All I could do was stare straight ahead. There was nothing interesting in front of me because at the time I was sitting in the unfinished part of my basement. A laundry room filled with a washer, dryer, and kitty-litter box did not have the capacity to activate my imagination, but it was my time to get a haircut. My wife had finally cornered me into doing something I sincerely hate to do. Sitting on an old folding chair and being wrapped in a plastic apron that increased one's body heat and sweat, I started to think about other things in life that I absolutely hated to do. Next week I have to go to the dentist. It is not that I have a toothache or rotting gums, I have to go because it is my time to go. My wife is a beautiful, talented, and incredibly organized young woman who basically keeps me from rotting away and I believe that, if it were not for her, I would probably be dying from personal neglect. I should thank my wife for forcing me to go through with this torture. If it weren't for her, I would have been gumming my food years ago. I am always a nervous wreck when I go to the dentist. I think it has something to do with my past, when my father used to drag me to his family dentist who hadn't changed his equipment since the turn of the last century. I remember once, when the "sadist" was trying to create cavities in my mouth with a poker-like stiletto, he hit a nerve that made my leg fly up in the air. It hit a couple of his private parts, and had the effect of canceling my appointment for about a month! Sometimes, when I am sitting in the dentist's chair, I wonder if this act of reflex would work again. I brush my teeth, four times longer than normal, before I go to the dentist, hoping that the last six months of brushing every now-and-then could be brushed away. I arrived at the dentist office in time, which is very important, because my wife is a good friend of the dentist, and the receptionist. Come to think of it, my wife is a good friend of everyone she sends me to! I guess she considers that a kind of insurance policy, to keep me on my best manners and, of course, to show up. I checked in and sat down. When my turn arrived, I entered the room where my teeth would be x-rayed and cleaned. The young woman who has cleaned my teeth for the past six years smiled and asked if I needed to take a Valium this time. It is tough when one is known too well. I told her 'No' and sat down in, my concept of, a lounge chair made-in-hell. I immediately apologized for not taking better care of my teeth and gums, before I looked up at the sun-like lamp, that always has the capacity to blind me for a couple of weeks, and held-on tight to Damien's lounge chair. She said she didn't mind and immediately put on her mask and shield. Firstly she took pictures of my teeth and to do this she had to put razor-sharp pieces of plastic between my gums and cheeks and I bit down like I was told to do. Maybe the Valium wasn't too bad of an idea! Next she told me to hold onto the wet vacuum pump so I could suck out the water, as she cleaned my teeth with the sonar water-pick. Maybe the 19th century equipment wasn't so bad after all! As she cleaned my teeth, my mind's eye had this pretty young woman evolve into a sado-masochistic, leather-bound, mad woman, who was using her spike heels to put holes in my gums. This procedure wouldn't have taken so long had it not been for the fact that I had to breathe. My mouth filled with water, to the point that the vacuum pump had lost its capacity to drain the water out before it crept down into my lungs. Plus it felt like it sucked up more of the inside of my mouth than water. Finally the agony was over! After the hygienist became a pleasant young woman again, she asked me to wait until the dentist came in, to see me. This always terrified me. For the past five or six years, I had been told that my teeth were fine and, that all I had to do was take care of my teeth by brushing, but, this time she came in smiling. She told me that my gums were starting to recede and that it was necessary that I start to floss every day, or I would need dental surgery: I can't even comprehend the concept of dental surgery! She also told me that I should get my wisdom teeth taken out. I told her that I would think about it. In my mind I continued that probability by thinking that I would think about it, a decade or so, after I had died and been cremated. I realized that the worst was over and at the front desk I signed what I was supposed to sign. The receptionist told me that she had made my December appointment, and that she would tell my wife about it, because I would most likely forget. I agreed and left. As I was going to my car I noticed that I forgot the little reminder card that they always gave me. I turned around to go back in and observed that they were all huddled together, probably discussing how they had survived another one of my visits! That night I remembered what the dentist told me, about how important it was for me to floss my teeth. The concept of dental surgery also terrified me. My wife never missed an evening without flossing. She gave me a new type of floss that was supposed to taste like a strawberry shake and I decided to give it a try. Maybe modern-day flossing may not be so bad after all! It was fibrous and spongy, and tasted like --- dental floss. The first piece I put in my mouth broke between my teeth: I think it actually exploded. I then decided that the floss tasted like a cardboard picture of a strawberry shake. I looked at my wife and she was astonished that I had my first piece of floss now dangling down my chin. She then gave me a piece of normal floss to get the first piece of floss out. I could not understand how a person could manipulate their fingers to guide a piece of string between the back molars: my fingers simply don't fit. In fact, I couldn't even find the space between my teeth. I must have worked on the same two teeth for ten minutes. My wife started to laugh because she said that she never saw anyone sweat by flossing his teeth. As hard as I tried I just could not do it. I finally dropped the floss and gave up but it was too late. I already had two or three strands of mangled floss stuck between my teeth and I started to believe that bleeding gums were not that bad after all. My wife now went into hysterics. I gave her a sneer and walked away, wondering if flossing wasn't some sort of a dentist's joke on their patients. I also wondered what my dentist would say, if she saw me digging out the dental floss with a steak knife! So, there I sat in an old, folding chair losing all feeling in my legs and butt. The only thing that kept me leaving was the reality that I was not sitting in a dentist's chair, and that my Debbie was holding a very sharp pair of scissors. The End
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