Spent an hour and a half at the dentist this morning. I happen to be pretty fond of my dentist–what caffiene junky wouldn’t love a mild-mannered lady who operates out of an office called Espresso Dental at which one is offered coffee and cookies? (after all, they’ve smelled worse breath than oatmeal raisin and a latte)–but this was not the best day I’ve ever had there. Not their fault though.
I hadn’t been in in a while and so the routine cleaning was a lot rougher than usual–not that I noticed at the time so much as afterward–and I was feeling pretty tired by the time we got to “let’s do those impressions, now.” (I grind my teeth, so the dentist and crew have expressed a need for a “night guard” to stop me from breaking any of my choppers off.) Well… all I can say is the phrase “sensitive gag response” came into play. Nothing is quite so gacky as the thick glop of dental impression material hitting the back of your throat like the world’s oldest oatmeal. Also “tutti frutti” should not be the flavor of choice for anything you have to swish.
I thank the gods for the chocolate chip cookies on the way out.
At home I found a pile of e-mail about publicity things and convention things and spamish things, which I didn’t want to deal with in my state of dental fatigue, but did. Way back when I thought I’d like to be a writer, I had no idea what being an author would entail. Maybe that trip to the dentist wasn’t so bad….