Of all of the professionals with whom I regularly and predictably interact, I think the most of my dental hygienist. I’ll call her Kate. I saw her this morning.
I’m not afraid of going to the dentist, but even an uneventful visit isn’t exactly pleasant. Of course my top priority is a good cleaning, but a close second is that I don’t want to be there any longer than I have to be.
Kate is a wizard. She does a marvelous job, she doesn’t hurt me gratuitously, and she’s very fast. (Part of the reason for that is that we’ve done this enough together that most all of our communication is nonverbal, i.e. no explicit calls to open, close slightly, and the like are necessary.) In fact, Kate has spoiled me to the point that there is a note on my chart that says if she isn’t available when I’m scheduled to come in, then please call me for a reschedule.
Now I would gleefully take this high-quality dental service even delivered by a one-eyed warthog, but as it happens, Kate is also quite cute. She has pretty red hair, a splash of freckles, and expressive eyes. Odds are good she’d be the cutest woman you saw in a day, out and going about your business.
Superficially, there is plenty to like about this. Life doesn’t present many legitimate opportunities for a guy to be reclined in a comfortable chair with an extremely attractive woman pretty much right on top of him, complete with frequent body contact that is incidental, yet still occasionally substantial. I mean, if anything’s going to start a salacious movie in your head—the sort that runs in every man’s head every day he’s alive and postpubescent—then that is.
Or so it would seem.
Unfortunately, the environment destroys the fantasy before it starts. I’m wearing a bib. She’s transformed into this weird thing wearing a mask and an eye shield, and she’s coming at me with a steel hook. The two gustatory sensations I’m experiencing are “gritty” and “sickly sweet.” To make it any unsexier, you pretty much have to add vomit or something. It’s a tragedy, really. There is so much promise in the setup, and so little delivered.
I’m neither a connoisseur nor frequent consumer of pornographic films, but all it would take for me to yell “oh, that’s so fake!” would be for one to start in a dentist’s office.
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Okay, seriously, Honey? I so did NOT need that picture. I’m still recovering from wisdom tooth removal X2, and while I will admit that I was unconscious for damned near all of it, it was still quite the unpleasant experience. I despise the dentist. I could have a gorgeous, cut, half-naked, delicious smelling man as my dentist and I’d STILL hate the dentist. Nossir, no romance in the dentist’s chair for me; I have to be stoned to even get in the door.
LOL Sorry, Mrs. Chili. I didn’t even consider this post in the context of your recent outing. I apologize.
Yeah, the hygienists are cute, but the guy who comes in to check the condition of my teeth is an 80 year old grampa. So not a fantasy.
Pics or it didn’t happen.
Okay, here goes.
When I was stationed at Reese Air Force Base in Lubbock, Texas, the hygenist at the base dentist’s office was the cause of some of the best-tended teeth and gums on earth. This consummate professional was blessed (cursed?) with immense breasts. She was a shapely person, actually kind of slight. She was disproportionally bosomy. There was no was she could do any of her work without giving one a pretty good workover with these things. She seemed either blissfully unaware of it, or else just took it in stride.
Ah, the sacrifices I made for an ungrateful nation (I say “ungrateful” on account of I served in Viet Nam, and nobody wanted to have anything to do with us baby killers when we came home). Things have gotten better, they did build a big black rock sort of thing to honor the dead.
My experiences weren’t so exciting as Gerry’s (unless you consider the nice Korean barbers who gave the workovers), but I do have a dentist who does a great job.
The good dentist seems completely unaware who I am. He is a short and plump man in his fifties who does a quick job of it. Most recently, I lost a filling that had been installed by a shifty Army dentist. My gum tissue immediately started growing into the space, and my dentist had to slice away the flesh before putting in the filling.
It was painless, mildly uncomfortable, and quick.
After the operation, he was exhausted saying, “I don’t want to ever put you through that again.”
But it was no trouble to me, and I said, “Hey, let’s do this again some time!”
He politely declined the invitation.