The Dentist

I don’t know many people that are fond of going to the dentist, nor any that look enthusiastically forward to their next visit. Me? Well, there’s one dentist I’ll probably never forgive for not listening to 16-year-old me, but I’ve been very lucky ever since.

This week’s visit brought a new realization, dare I say “horror” as I settled into the curvy and surprisingly comfy chair. There I was, psyching myself up for a crown replacement and a new dentist when the assistant walked in, young, pretty, and smiley (even behind the mask, it was obvious). Then the dentist walked in with the most stunning eyes and lashes “to die for.” She was kind, easy going and we bonded in our love of Disney.

All three of us.

So, why the horror, you ask? Over the years (okay, decades), I’ve stopped wearing makeup to the dentist. I thought it a kindness that they would not get cover up covering up their gloves or instruments. 

Until this week.

This week I realized just how up close and personal they really get when they’re creeping by the bicuspids and tiptoeing through the molars. You see, as we age, our faces change in different ways. Me? I have pores that make the moon craters jealous and hairs that pop up on my face within moments of plucking another out. They could see every nook and cranny on the face of this granny, and I was horrified! 

I hereby vow never to visit a dentist again without full battle-makeup on! (okay, maybe just a light cover-up)

As for the dentist and their office. I love them.  How often do you see a wall of certificates that includes a “Ductorate” from the Disney College Program proudly displayed?

Actually, I’m kind of looking forward to my next visit!