That’s when I’m scheduled to appear before my dentist to rectify a tooth emergency after some beef jerkey got the better part of my bottom right molar, wisdom tooth to be exact. It’s the not that tooth that hurts but my big fat tongue which keeps rubbing against the sharp part of my partially broken tooth.
Normally, this wouldn’t be a big deal but I’m leaving on a jet plane in two days and I’m all about sacrificing comfort if it means avoiding a trip to the dentist; just not this time around.
I can’t begin to explain how terrified I am of these people and even typing this out I can feel myself tensing up. Like my growing stomach, so does grow my fear of teeth workers. If the arms of a dentist chair had restraints, I’d use them. If gas is an option, sign me up.
Mice, snakes, spiders, that shady dude in the back alley; I’m fine with. I’ve been picnicing when a family of bears showed up, I’ve been face to face with a wolf during a winter camping trip and aside from being more than a little concerned over a pack of coyotes when I was a wee lad, none of this compares to how I feel about the dentist.
24 hours from now it will all be over with and yes, I’ll be reporting back with details however this isn’t how I wanted to spend my last few remaining hours of 2009; stuck in a dentist chair.
