I had the displeasure of visiting the dentist yesterday for a routine check-up and cleaning.
“Routine” implies this is something I do once every six months like a normal person, but a paralyzing fear of dentistry has altered my routine so that years, no, presidential administrations pass between visits.
My philosophy? If I don’t feel any tooth pain, brush twice a day and work a little mouthwash or floss now and then, things will probably be okay. Passable, at least.
So, the diagnosis? Eight fillings, one crown and the extraction of four wisdom teeth.
Someone just put me down. Let me enjoy my last Chipotle burrito bowl, kiss my wife and dog goodbye, FaceTime with my family, then take me out back and put me down.