by Eva Watson
I act dumb. Full stop. I’m a grown woman who acts like an immature twit. I’m constantly making fun of everything. When I noticed crunchy, dried-up boogers sticking to the wall next to my three-year-old’s bed, I said, “Syd? Santa thinks that’s disgusting. Now you’re on his disgusting list. Great.” So cruel. I can’t even write maturely. I once wrote an article on
recommendations for thwarting raccoon thievery of my summer garden strawberries; the segment was titled, ‘Raccoon Smasher Garden Patrol’… (snort) See? Tasteless. I can’t help myself. Life gets stupid. But it doesn’t stop there. My adolescent humor even seeps into my care of patients.
A young guy was in my operatory chair. He hadn’t had a professional scaling in four years. I was about to begin his SRP when he said, “I might be a big baby when you get in there.” I laughed and said, “That’s what I tell my OB/Gyn.” Later, when the guy asked to see another hygienist, I said to myself, “I’m so retarded.”
Another patient attempted to describe what sounded like floss threaders. She went on for more than five minutes trying to describe what floss threaders looked like. I finally said, “You mean those furry, tampon-y thingies with the long string attached? Yeah, I have those.” After the patient rolled her eyes and asked to speak with the dentist privately, I thought to myself, “I’m so juvenile. Why do I do that?”
With the influx of dental products out there, I wish there was a device to zap me with low-voltage electrical currents when I misbehave; like a TENS unit but angrier. As soon as I unleash a nasty one—zzzzt! Owie. Everything would be fine after that, but I’d have to explain to patients why my hair has a static electricity boner. I suppose it doesn’t have to be a dental product, per se. It could be manufactured by a urologist for what it’s worth. They could call it The Electrical Nerve Punisher.
I don’t know. Perhaps it’s not a good idea after all.