No one likes to go to the dentist.
Some of us don’t mind it as much as we mind going to get a haircut (Exhibit A of this type of personality is atop my head) but after you graduate from high school and it’s no longer one of the few acceptable reasons to miss class, the trip to the dentist becomes even more horrible.
Gone are the days when you just feared the tools, the drills, the scrapey thing, the bad-tasting tooth polish and the bloody gums that come from not flossing as much as you should.
Now, at least for me, it’s more mental.
I walk in and know that I didn’t floss enough, so I know it’s going to hurt, but this I’m OK with. What I don’t like is having to explain to this adult why I suck at life so much that I can’t drag dental tape through my teeth once daily, even when plaque has bad breath, early onset gingivitis and cavity implications.
I just can’t explain it. It’s like a teacher whose class I take twice a year and each time they shake their head at me like they’re disappointed, but they pass me anyway, hoping that one of these days I’ll get it.
But that wasn’t it today. No, not even when I had to call my insurance to get them to verify that, yes, my parents’ insurance covers me until the end of the day Oct. 31, regardless of what the automated voice told the receptionist.