Have I ever told you I hate the dentist?
I do.
Wholeheartedly.
I hate everything about the dentist; the smells, the sounds, the pain, the anxiety, the spit, the pressure, the pulling, the prodding, the chair, the magazines, the light, the xrays, the gleam of those horrible little instruments, and those disapproving little noises the dentist makes.
Hate. Every. Last. Bit.
My history with dentists is not a good one. I've had a number of experiences with them that I would classify as traumatic. Add the costs of dental care and Ta Da! You've got a gal who gets worked up over the mere thought of the dental chair.
It's been embarrassingly long since I've let one of those evil bastards near me but I'm finally going to get a load of work done this Friday. My kidlet has an appointment the same day and will brave those masochists simply with a smile. I, on the other hand, will be heavily sedated in another room to prevent my running out of the building in fear or biting the dentists finger clean off.
So, if it's quiet around here over the next wee while it's because I'm either busy working myself up into a anxious frenzy, in a fuzzy state from the drugs, or feeling sorry for myself as I recover from wisdom tooth removal.
Wish me luck! (I think I'll need it.)
