I was reclined in the dentist's chair last Friday, completely at my leisure. I seriously love going to the dentist. I've stayed away for far too long. Michelle, the hygienist to whom I was assigned, asked me several times if I was sure I hadn't been to the dentist in the last four years. Apparently my teeth did not meet the criteria for neglect that such a deviation should suggest. I believe her words were, verbatim, "These suckers don't even need to be polished...but I'll do it anyway."

As my time there grew to a close, and I voiced my concerns regarding the regular presence of coffee in my mouth...and, you know, stomach acid (they gave me a weekly fluoride treatment)...Michelle asked, "Do you whiten your teeth?" Oh, crap. She's gonna scold me. Don't take away my White-strips! Please! For the love of God! Not that, anything but that!

Meekly, with a tremor and contrived, droopy puppy dog eyes, "Yes. Are you going to put me on a time out now?" I figured this was payback for me warning that if I happen to see x-rays of my teeth published on a disreputable site, I'll know whose blood to hunt.

"No! They look really good! I think you should go ahead and do another round, actually!" She was buttering me up, you see...this little vanity fluffing distracted me while they ordered a crumbling mercury filling replaced, a wisdom tooth removed, and an NTI device to do away with my head, neck, and back aches—apparently it's all caused from my teeth grinding.

I laughed at my dentist, one of my most favorite people ever, saying, "Oh, but I don't grind my teeth, silly! Not even in my sleep!"

She patted my hand after the oral cancer exam and said, "Oh honey, but you do."

See, though...I'm easy. Flattery will get you pretty much anywhere...everywhere. "Wah—? My teeth sparkle? Well, well...there you go, I've signed the form. My first born? Totally yours. Oh, and while I was at it, I signed over my soul as well."