I was asked, by a dedicated follower, to move the post scheduled for this slot and, in a sense, “finish” the post I began yesterday. “You can’t just tell us you’re going to the dentist, and then not recount the experience,” she argued. She’s right.

First, let me take the drama out of it for you. I’m fine. No issues found. No cavities, no future fillings (as it is, my mouth is Fillings Central already, so not going under the drill again is good news, because if I had to, it would most likely mean one had fallen out).

Now, on to the experience itself.

Nine minutes before my scheduled appointment, my dad and I got in the car and he drove me to the dentist’s office (For those who don’t know me well enough to know this, my palsy plus eyesight that has never been great together mean I can’t drive; come on, Google, I’m rooting for you and your self-driving car; I’d be all over that!). I had told him the night before of the impending dentist visit and its hour, but he must have forgotten. He does that sometimes. *Grin.* Don’t we all?

When I arrived (just a few minutes late, thank you very much), I was ushered back as usual and quickly found that all my at-home dental work has paid dividends. The hygienist liked what she saw.

As she cleaned, we spoke.She’s soon to be a grandmother. I told her of my brother’s recent high school graduation. We listened to a baby in the waiting room cry. Hard.

The doctor doesn’t see babies (“I did see a one-year-old once,” he told us). The town crier belonged to the lady being seen in the cubicle next to me. I said to my soon-to-be-a-grandmother teeth-cleaner, “I bet the best part of becoming a grandma is being able to give the kid back when it starts crying, yes?” She smiled and agreed.

The doctor came in to see me. We caught up. A once-every-six-months “congratulations to both of us on still being alive”. He will be going to Florida for Christmas “and seeing the Harry Potter thing they’ve got down there”. Not sure that’s an exact quote, but it’s close enough to warrant the marks.  I told him my girlfriend would love to see that, and the doctor, the hygienist. and I began to talk about quidditch, which got me to thinking, I’d much rather watch the Quidditch World Cup than the actual World Cup.

Sorry, soccer fans.

But I digress.

In the end, I’ve discovered that even an uneventful trip to the tooth-doctor deserves a write-up now and then. As I said yesterday, see you in six months, doc. Christmas will be here sooner than you think, everybody!