God, I hate the dentist.
I mean, not personally. I don't hate the dentist, herself, as a person. I just hate that trips to the dentist are always... ALWAYS... a horrible, uncomfortable, worrisome affair. Today I had x-rays, a cleaning, 3.2 very negative seconds of the dentist's time, and some great religious one-liners from my hygienist. It went like this:
Her: You need to relax! God says there's no reason to worry!
Me: God doesn't have my horrible teeth!
Her: No, but he died on the cross.
Me: At least there were no drills involved.
Etcetera. Despite my religious (har har) flossing and 2-minute brushing, I still have the same old cavities. Now I get to wait for the insurance company to send me a big, long list of how much they'll cover. Won't that be the best mail ever? "Dear Captain Cavity: Not only do you require a lot of dental work, but here's the enormous price tag. P.S. Nitrous isn't free. Signed, Guardian."
Thus far, my lifelong tally of dental catastrophes includes: knocking 6 teeth loose at the age of 6 and getting slapped by the pediatric dentist who reset them; waking up from a nitrous fog to the cruel laughter of two racist dental students taking cracks at me while I was knocked out; and cracking a tooth to the nerve while 6 months pregnant and requiring a root canal without anesthetic.
Genetics, thou art a cruel mistress. Although i'm sure the Coke and Lemonheads of my youth didn't help.