This morning, I went to the dentist for my six-month cleaning and to have my chipped tooth filed down. As usual, the dental hygienist was overly-chatty for my 8:00 am appointment, expecting me to answer her questions while she scraped around in my mouth with a metal hook.
Hygienist: “So, where do you live?”
Me: “Dwtr.”
Hygienist: “Oh! Downtown? Me too! How long have you lived there?”
Me: “Sth muf.”
Hygienist: “Six months, huh? I’ve lived there about three years, but I think I’m ready to move to the suburbs and buy a house. Do you live alone or with a boyfriend or husband?”
Me: “Aln.”
Hygienist: “I see. I live with my boyfriend. I keep telling him I want to get married, but he just won’t commit. I tell him over and over and over, but he keeps putting it off. Not sure why.”
Me: “Mmm.”
Hygienist: “Yeah, I love him, but he doesn’t have good dental hygiene. So ironic, right?!”
Me: “Mmm hmm.”
Hygienist: “We used to argue so much about it that finally, I just started flossing him.”
Me: “Hmm?!”
Hygienist: “Yes, I make him lay down, and I floss his teeth every night before bed.”
Me: “Hmm…”
Hygienist: “I brush his teeth for him, too. It’s just a thing we do!”
…righttttt.
Jillian Wyatt 