My dentist is a nice fellow. He has a big, shiny new office in our little bitty town, and he's made a good name for himself among our odd mix of citizens. Farmers and socialites alike, he fills and drills and whitens. He does not discriminate.
He breezes in to inspect my teeth after the hygenist has finished the dirty work. He mutters some numbers to the hygenist, chastises me to floss better, and, inevitably, asks me a question.
"So, how old are your kids now?" It's never a yes or no question. Never something I can respond to with a gesture.
He seems unwilling to wait, or maybe it's just me, so I do my best to answer him while his gloved hands are still in my mouth.
"Ehwebbn, algo figh, algo woo."
"Eleven! Almost five and almost two! When are the little one's birthdays?" He's stetched one side of my mouth as far back as it will go.
"Uhh Wanury ag Fegruy."
"Wow! And your oldest is January, too, right? You really know how to stack them up!"
We laugh together. Well, he laughs. I kind of go ACK ACK ACK ACK and start choking on my own spit.
"Easy, now! Hahaha! Did you guys have family in for Christmas?" He now has both sides of my mouth stretched out and I swear he's in there up to his elbows.
"Wo, ju I ohm. See's hewe."
"That's right, your mom lives right down the street from you." Wow, this guy is good.
He crawls out of my mouth and pulls off his gloves with a double snap. "Looks great!" he says as he heads out the door. "See you in six months!"
"Great, thank you Doctor." I reply.
He turns in the doorway. "Excuse me?" he asks, "I didn't catch that."
2 hours ago