I had to spend two hours in the dentist office today, replacing several old childhood fillings that were slowly falling apart.

I had put it off for quite a while, because my old fancy dentist was constantly pushing crowns.

Every crown I have ever gotten has been a real nightmare and felt uncomfortable for a year or more, so I wasn't keen to voluntarily have them done.

I am also not a big fan of grinding my teeth down stubs, so that they can be topped with something shiny and white.

I suppose I would feel differently if my front teeth were involved, but these are the four furthest back teeth and one side tooth, so I really don't mind a silver filling in the center.

My new, less fancy dentist was happy to replace the old filling with a new one, so I scheduled an appointment.

The new less fancy dentist is close to my house, very nice and lets me change my appointment to fit my schedule.  The old fancy dentist made me schedule a year in advance and there was not a snowball's change of changing, ever, for any reason.

It started to piss me off over the years, so I switched.

I am happy with everything about this new dentist, except for his weird assistants.

The hygienist is like a dog-show judge.   She looks you over from every side. Makes some notes, clicking her tongue from time to time.

She sort of circles your head checking out all the angles, then dives into your mouth without warning.

She pulls the tongue, your cheeks and she cleans the teeth in an unsystematic way that makes me nervous.  I am an excellent patient.

I like having my teeth cleaned.
I brush my teeth compulsively so there is never much to clean.
 I have a giant mouth, so there is no bother there.

I am in short, a hygienists dream.

I have been told as much by more than one hygienist over the years.

This gal acts as though I am an eighty year old man that has smoked five packs of Camel straights a day since childhood.  It bothers me when my stellar dental hygiene is not lauded and praised.

It bothers me when someone pulls my tongue out of my mouth and doesn't provide any feedback about what she is looking for and what she has observed.

The assistant that helped with today's procedure was really weird, not just poor bedside manner, a stone nutter.  While I was waiting for the doctor to show up, I was reading a magazine with cleansing recipes.  The assistant starts reading over my shoulder,

"Ewwww, I hate sauerkraut, it gives me really bad GAS!" 

What a way to make an entrance!

She went on to describe all of the foods in the entire world that give her gas, as well the duration and severity of the gas.

Now, I am not a prudish person, but I tend to be fairly conservative with PEOPLE I DON'T KNOW, not to mention I like to think of the people sticking their hands in my mouth as skilled professionals, people with tact and grace, not some chattery windbag with gas problems.

The chat didn't end when the doctor arrived. 

She went on and on, on a variety of subjects, like house-cats being dismembered by coyotes, the Street of Dreams custom houses, her Grammies deviled eggs (which also give her gas).

By the end I was beginning to wonder about the doctor's credentials, if he hires such freaky people. 

Now that I think of it, the receptionist is a little odd too.  She has that type of hair that has been dyed black too many times, like a teen age goth girl, or pre-divorce Pricilla Presley except she is in her 50's and wears scrubs.

My teeth falling apart despite my best efforts made me think of this