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It’s a cavity-free hat trick

July 2, 2007

Yeah, I know, I’m a baseball fan, so why the hockey analogy? Well, because “cavity-free triple” just doesn’t sound as cool. I am three straight visits cavity-free.

I’m a freak (You are probably more than well aware of this by now, if you’ve been reading this blog for any length of time) — I LOVE going to the dentist. There is something so great about that shiny, smooth feeling on your teeth after having them cleaned and polished. I also really like that suction feeling when they squirt your mouth full of water and they tell you to close so it will suck out all the juice in your mouth. See, told you. Freak.

I really do like going to the dentist. It’s not because my dentist has DirecTV and I get to watch the food network as they work on my teeth. It’s not because I can bring Alissa in with me and they love that I do. It’s not because I always get the cutest little chapstick in my goody bag that is just the right size to fit in my ashtray in my car for instant lip-moisturizing needs while doing 55 65 75 85 up the freeway (yes, I am regularly guilty of doing nearly 30 over the posted speed). It’s not because the girls there are so totally awesome and they use the ultrasonic water pik so I don’t even have to listen to scraping and bleeding for an hour. It’s not because they are open until 9 pm so I don’t even have to take off of work to go. I just like knowing that my smile is cavity-free. There’s something that makes me feel good about it.

Maybe it’s because I didn’t go to the dentist for about 10 years growing up. You see, my sister was cursed with my dad’s bad teeth. She can brush her teeth three times a day, drink nothing but water and still go to the dentist and have 5 or 6 cavities. It’s always been like that, so my parents have spent all of their dental allotment in life keeping her teeth from falling out of her head. She literally has a lifetime 25% discount at her dentist because she’s had so much work done.

So when I went to the dentist when I first moved to Seattle, I made a grand mistake: I picked a guy off my health plan because he was closest to home. Fourteen cavities…Fourteen! Those were the most excruciating cavities to have fixed because I don’t think the guy knew what he was doing. I hope that guy isn’t still in practice. I think I let him fix 6 or 7 of them, which I promptly had to have my new dentist (shoutout to Dr. Connors in Burien!) fix so I could eat.

You would think after all that, I would hate the dentist. But I don’t. Then I moved here. And I asked the guy I was dating at the time: “you have great teeth, who’s your dentist?” So he gave me their number and I have been going ever since.

And, well, you’d think that the fact that we share a child now and going in there is totally awkward — especially because they always ask how he’s doing and when I last saw him, and go on and on about what a great guy he is and I have to bite my tongue and wonder if they can see the resemblance in Alissa and are just digging for me to say something or if it’s the same friendly banter we had about him before I bore his child — would make me hate the dentist, or at least that dentist, but I don’t. I love it.

I love the way my teeth feel when they are freshly cleaned and I love the way I feel when I hear, “no cavities, we’ll see you in 6 months.” I feel like I should walk out with a gold star. Maybe my mom will buy me a new outfit for my Barbie like she used to.

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