The hygenist was very good, very kind, did not scold me. People do that less these days. Maybe it's that I'm an adult, maybe the standing wave I generate that somehow keeps people from telling me about their religion also works on dentists. Maybe it's just that the refrain "Well, I haven't had health insurance for awhile..." is immediately understood in this day and age, and in fact, the response is always one of "Let's get this all fixed while the insurance lasts, then..." with the silent understanding that one cannot count on insurance to be a constant of existence any longer. A grim reflection on our times, to be sure, but it does mean I don't get yelled at, so there's that.
So there was the usual minor discomfort, and sequence of truly vile tastes. My teeth feel all...distinct...now. I do wish they'd put something mentally stimulating on the ceiling. I don't mean a picture of flowers, or a mobile. That doesn't work at the gynecologist either. If I am having a car jack rammed into either my mouth or parts further south, a magazine cut-out of a field of tulips is not going to do squat. They need story problems. Logic puzzles. Where's Waldo. Something to occupy the brain, damnit.
And I got a rotating tooth-brush thing to massage my gums. It is shaped like an astronaut. It was four dollars. The identical adult model was $85. They suggested I just ditch dignity and save myself a lot of money, and being both cheap and basically undignified, I spent a novel few minutes this evening massaging my gums with a small bristly handled spaceman.
And I have nothing else, on reflection, that can possibly compete with that last line, so I'm going' to bed.