I had my first Laughing Gas high this morning at the dentist. :) 'Twas good.
The dentist's office and I have a love/hate relationship; they love to take my money, and I hate them with a bloody passion. I had dental trauma several years ago after getting into a serious car accident, and I've never been able to get over it. Every time I set foot in that wretched office, my palms start to sweat, my jaw clenches, and my shoulders hike up around my ears. Every second is torture. Even with my trusty iPod playing my favorite tunes in my earbuds, I still can't shake the near-paralyzing anxiety. By the time the plastic sucky-thing is put into my mouth and I'm told to open wide, I morph into a certifiable raving ninny.
Today was different, because I saw a different dentist -- a female dentist. After she saw me have a total freak-out in the oh-so-comfy horizontal chair, she looked at me with compassionate eyes and said knowingly, "I think you're a candidate for Nitrous." I didn't know what a candidate for Nitrous looked like, but I was pretty certain that I looked like a petrified cat with its claws stuck in the ceiling tiles. I was ready to try anything to get through this nightmare without having a full-blown panic attack.
Within a few minutes, they had strapped a doo-hickey onto my face and instructed me to breathe through my nose. After a few minutes, my arms and legs started getting heavvvvvvvvvvy and I entered the coveted "Twilight Zone" for which the dentist prepared me. After a couple of quick shots of Novocaine, I was off to HappyTown.
For the next 45 minutes, the dental hygienist pinched, poked, stabbed, scraped, sandblasted, powerwashed, and vac-dried my mouth, and I didn't give a crap. I was off offf offfff into my own fabulous world.
I'll be honest: I had fantasies about boys. Cute boys. Famous boys and local boys. Boys I knew and boys I didn't. Singer boys (i.e. Jason Mraz), and actor boys (Zac Efron). Boys with big shoulders and cute butts. Boys with open hearts and soft lips. Boys. Boys. More boys.
I was blissfully swimming in a sea of testosterone when I heard my iPhone ring, temporarily pausing my Jason Mraz Playlist. The ring tone was "You Sexy Thing" by Hot Chocolate. Only one special person is assigned that ring tone: Mr. Michael Rose, hunky husband to the fantasizing almost-middle-aged woman who was currently hyped-up on Nitrous.
It was then that I got the biggest high of all; I realized that I met and married the boy of my dreams.
Mmmmm...'tis good indeed. I can't wait for my beloved to come home to me!
Maybe I'll feel my lips by then.
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For your consideration and/or comment:
How do you handle visits to the dentist's office?
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2 comments:
Awww sounds like you were in a very happy place - despite being in the dentist chair! I'm no fan myself, but so far I've never had to get anything major done - hope it stays like that!
OK Mojo, Don't hate me after this post.
I LOVE the dentist and I have no idea why. When I was a kid, my dentists name was Dr. Brush and I always thought that was so funny. I have always loved it and I have a mouth full of cavaties and had the shots in the gums that make my eyes water but, just cannot top the way my teeth feel after a good cleaning. PLUS, you get a new toothbrush and a tiny dental floss that fits so nicely in my purse.
I did completely FREAK OUT when I needed to get a MINOR surgery done. I mean totally FREAK OUT where they had to get my husband to calm me down. I don't know what that is all about!!!!
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