Tuesday morning found me at my computer chatting on-line with Whimzie about the day’s agenda, the milk chocolate macadamia laceys at World Market, my Jersey hair, and what we could fix for supper that would satisfy at least three out of the five people in our family. Whimz had already read my Monday post about dragging my feet over having to make appointments for doctor appointments so she harrassed the living life out of me offered gentle words of encouragement to just MAKE THE CALL.
One of those calls was to the dentist. If you’ll recall, I have slight anxiety issues about going to the dentist (discussed here and here), and this anxiety may or may not require a heavy overdose of prescription medication to overcome. I was hoping that the very nice receptionist would tell me that they refused to ever have me darken their doors again, but sadly, they could fit me right in.
SO, while you’re reading this, I’ll be strapped into a chair, gripping the armhandles and praying for Jesus to return getting my teeth cleaned, vainly attempting to ignore the awful sound of the spinny thing, trying not to feel self-conscious about a stranger being close enough to notice the size of my pores all the while controlling the urge to throw a Class A freak out and run screaming from the building.
Yes, I know I’m now 40 and expected to act maturely. But 40’s the new 30, so I’m allowed.
Someone else may need a prescription or two….
Have a nice day.