‘Good morning and how are you today? Please have a seat and make yourself comfortable.’, she said. I looked at the direction of the voice and there she was : all splendoured in that clean white coat of hers, looking like an angel, she does.
Mesmerized, I obediently (as ever) did as she asked. I placed my weary and tensed body onto the seat, and made myself as comfortable as I can. As soon as I sat myself down, it dawned on me how comfortable the seat was, arm rest and all, making oneself comfortable not really a problem. And to top it all, its in a reclined position.
‘Now what can I do for you today?’, she asks as she placed herself next to me. Again, in that soothing voice of hers.
‘Well, it’s like this. I have been having this problem and no matter what I try, it just won’t go away.’, I begin.
‘I have tried everything, well almost everything.’
‘But now, I have no choice. Can you help me?’, I pleaded while trying to not sound like a whoose.
‘Hmmm, I see what I can do.’, she replied. Before I can reply, she mouthed those magical words, ‘Now open your mouth, please.’
If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, shame on you.
I hate going to the dentist. Period. There! I’ve said it.
A visit to the dentist is, for me, never a pleasant experience, no matter how hard the dentist tries to make his or her dental practice as comfortable and non-threatening as possible.
Travel and fashion magazines placed strategically in the waiting room, wifi facilities free of charge, TV placed in one corner airing Sponge Bob’s latest adventure (seriously!?), all with the aim of distracting you from the inevitable : a place under the spotlight with your mouth wide open at the mercy of the dentist.
I do not particularly care whether the dentist is a beautiful lady (surprisingly, many of them are, behind that face mask), gifted with the voice of an angel, soft and ever so soothing, tugging at the heartstrings of many a flustering male patient or if he is a He-Man of a dentist, making many a female patient swoon (if they can actually swoon in that reclined dentist’s chair), which worries me somewhat for he might not even know his own strength.
As they say, it ain’t over til the fat (who said fat!?) lady sings and she has not even warmed up yet or in this case, til the dentist says,’Now rinse your mouth please.’
I hate going to the dentist, I do. Period.