Another Reason to Fear the Dentist

A while back I went to the dentist's office for a routine checkup.

I like to have my appointments first thing in the morning so that I can get to work only a little bit late. On one particular visit the dental assistant was about 15 minutes tardy arriving. I was civil to her, but I wasn't terribly happy about her running behind. That changed, however, when she told me why.

"I had to drop my son off at daycare -- my little boy's father and I are going through a divorce, so my life is on the crazy side right now."

I just sighed and nodded my head. I certainly didn't want to make her life more unpleasant, so I cheered up and did my best to act happy.

We got along well enough after that -- not that I was saying much while she poked around in my mouth with a miniature ice pick; about all I could manage was an occasional "ah" and "uh-huh."

Then she laid it on me.

"Wow -- a man who flosses. I'll have to marry you next."

Over the next several minutes of listening to her chatter, a rather uncomfortable fact became gradually clearer: she wasn't joking. Further, my cessation of guttural responses wasn't enough to dissuade her. I've never been able to make myself spontaneously pass out, so I was stuck there, hoping she didn't take my silence as sympathy, fearful lest I offend her and she momentarily lose proficiency with the ice pick.

Happily, I managed to escape harm that day. Not that I think the virtues of flossing are over-stated per se, but I do wonder if instructions to floss should come with a Surgeon General-type warning that consistent flossing can have the effect of drawing the unexpected attention of the dentist's office staff.