Really. I spent the entire morning at the dentist (9:30 to 12), with my mouth held open by biting down on a wedge device. That whine of the drill! Shrill, then that dull, down-in-the-mines grinding. Mysterious requests: color B3? no. Fill it with the double zero? passed back and forth between the dentist and his assistant.
Asking me: Bite. And . . . OPEN. Bite again . . . and . . . OPEN.
I'm ground down, in more ways than one.
But I have two temporaries. So there's that. And no pain at the end of it all, so I love my dentist. I really do. He even gave me a little chit for a free milkshake, because I couldn't eat. (Although I hate to go to see him.)
Two more down; how many to go?
