There are a few things in this world that I abhor even more than finding hair in my food. Most of them are pretty typical; stupid teenagers, not being able to see the hidden picture in those paintings that are all dots and, okra (side note: don't even get me started on okra, it is so vile, it's what I imagine eating a caterpillar is like *insert dry heave*)
But what I hate more than anything is the dentist. It is, pants down, the worst most awful task a human must subject themselves to. I will even go as far as to say it's worse than a pap smear (sorry guys).
I got home from work on Friday to a message from my dentist informing me it's time for my six month check up. It was a very friendly message but listening to it almost induced a panic attack. I got sweaty and anxious and I didn't even finish listening to it before I hit the delete button and hid under the pillows on my couch.
Seriously, why do teeth have to rot? Or need to be looked at twice a year? How I wish teeth were just made of bone. Who ever the "genius" was that invented the human body should be fired for that little slip up. Shouldn't we just get one good set of teeth and have them be maintenance free?
Between watching sugars, white flour intake, salts, empty calories, saturated fats, regular calories, high fructose corn syrup, making sure to floss and brush twice a day, wearing sunscreen, monitoring my moles and freckles, taking a multi-vitamin, waxing regularly, getting at least five hours of activity a week, making sure blood pressure and cholesterol are in check, changing the oil in my car every five thousand miles, sending thank you notes, and remembering to have a life between working all day and trying to get settled into the new house; it's just one more thing to worry about.
To me it's enough to immediately turn me into a temper tantrum throwing three year old. When I heard the words "time for a teeth cleaning" I just wanted to throw myself on the floor and cry my eyes out. I was just there six months ago. Why do I have to go again? I don't want to go again. I. Hate. This.
Of course there is an alternative. I could not go. At all ever. Nobody is forcing me to go. But then my teeth would totally rot out of my head. Which would be fine if I were a hockey player or heavily involved in roller-derby or if I was addicted to meth and living in a trailer park in some red state. Because I am sure that is the norm in those kinds of situations. And probably considered attractive and/or convenient. But I want my teeth. I just don't want to have to deal with all the up keep.
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