Another day, another visit to the dentist. I've become a regular at the dentists in the city, so much that it's like attending a theatrical or social event. "Anyone else here yet?" I ask, walking comfortably in through the door. "Take a seat," says the receptionist. "How are you?" I say, settling myself easily into the chair. "He'll be 10 minutes," says the receptionist in a friendly voice, tapping away at the computer. "Did you see that show on television last night?" I ask the dentist as we go into their room and he pushes me down into the chair. "Sit still and open your mouth," he says calmly, forcing a cold metal implement into my mouth. "Ohhay", I say, doing my best to smile and nod without getting the metal implement jammed up through my upper palate. "Wider," says the dentist, at which point we all crack up at the joke.
Now, I've reached the point at the dentists where, having had their fun and extracted several offending calcite bodies from my mouth, they're figuring out ways to keep me coming back. This Saturday, I attended a scheduled appointment that had been scheduled following a previous scheduled appointment, during which current scheduled appointment, the dentist I had scheduled to meet with scheduled another scheduled appointment in two weeks time, during which there may or may not be another appointment scheduled to perform more acts with cold metal implements in my mouth.
It could be worse. I could take to hanging out in the pub, where, I'm told, they also extract calcite bodies from your mouth - but with bare hands and broken bottles. I'm not quite ready for that - not for several sessions at the dentist, at least.
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