The Dentist

I had my six-month dental cleaning today.  Everything is fine.  No cavities, no new caps needed, no complaints about my level of flossing or brushing.  My hygienist and dentist are both friendly and gentle.  All in all, I don't dread going to the dentist like I used to as a child.  Granted, it turns out that my childhood dentist believed in a practice known as "preventive fillings."  I think he just wanted to buy a yacht.  I even enjoyed a new flavor of polish: strawberry margarita.  Usually, I just go with cinnamon.

One element that still causes me a bit of concern is that I never can seem to accurately pinpoint where pain is located within my mouth.  When asked to identify a problem tooth, I usually get it wrong.  It's up to my dentist to use compressed air to actually locate the problem area.  Today, he had to sand down a bit of one of my teeth that was knocking against its neighbor.  It turns out that was why I was getting so sensitive to cold liquids on that side of my mouth.

My hygienist always seems surprised, and maybe a bit disappointed, when I turn down her offers to give me toothpicks, dental floss, fluoride mouthwash, travel tubes of toothpaste, etc.  I usually only pick up a new toothbrush.  She doesn't have the type of floss that I use, and I'm not a mouthwash fan.

Still, it was a straightforward and relatively painless trip that was probably duller than reading this post.  Probably ...