The tooth, the whole tooth & nothing but the tooth

I have a confession to make. I have a secret fear that I am going to share with you. All three of you that read my blog. Clowns don’t scare me. I am not scared of big dogs (despite being mistaken for a chew toy as a kid once or twice) and I have no problem dealing out the big squishy on bugs of various shapes and sizes.
No worries there.
What I am afraid of, downright terrified of in fact, are dentists.
Terrified.
A big fat wuss, even.
When I was a wee lad, lo those many moons ago, I had the single misfortune of visiting a dentist with the chair-side manner of Orin Scrivello, DDS. (What? You didn’t see Little Shop of Horrors? Tsk, tsk)
Let’s just say that he had a talent for causing me pain. Who knew a simple tooth extraction would turn into a scene from Friday the 13th? Sure, maybe the tooth breaking while he tried to yank it from my per-pubescent mouth wasn’t his fault. But surely he could hear my anguished scream while he hummed a few bars of the Battle Hymn of the Republic, right?
And when I waved my hands to get his attention to let him know that the anesthetic had worn off and it was a little uncomfortable for me, what with him digging the shattered remains of my tooth out.
Maybe he was just too engrossed to notice.
Well, ever since that lovely little watershed moment, I have been reduced to complete globs of jelly whenever someone mentions a dentist.
Sure I brush and floss and what not but the truth is, I’d rather lose my teeth on most days than go back.
Unfortunately for me, one of my molars had other plans.
A filling I had since the Carter Administration, decided to up and leave without telling me one day and my poor molar, bereft and really just a hollow shell of its former self without the filling, was left broken.
Literally. Like a huge chunk missing. Sort of like an off white version of the second death star. In my mouth though.
Ah. Fun times.
I like pain. Loads and loads of it. Heaping tons of it. Don’t you? There is nothing better than pain that feels kind of like someone driving a really thin, sharp needle the size of a railroad spike through your skull.
That’s the best.
But since I need sleep and my constant crying was beginning to scare my kids, I decided to bite the bullet and go to the dentist.
He gave me options. It was adorable. “Would you like to save the tooth? We would simply do a root canal and then you would need a crown of course…”
Suddenly I had this image of a jackhammer being forced into my mouth and a large Hell’s Angel with a really neat tattoo of a skull and spider web and a sledge hammer and a bottle of whiskey –
“It would take about 45 minutes to do the canal work and depending on the…”
And he would be laughing as a really scary Dental Hygienist with a heavy German accent snickered as she wiped the gore off the walls-
“But of course, the choice is entirely yours.”
I smiled like I had actually been listening. Which I was… sort of.
“How much would all that cost?”
“Around sixteen hundred.”
“How much to just pull it?”
“Two hundred fifty-ish.”
Hmm. A bionic tooth complete with GPS transponder and weather detector or a family vacation in the summer? Assuming the Keys doesn’t end up looking like the Alaskan coastline after the Exxon Valdez passed through, a vacation would be nice.
“Pull it.”
The best part of the whole experience was that, other than the injection for the pain killer, I never felt a thing. Sweet. The tooth stayed in one piece as it was extracted which was a win as far as I was concerned.
Worse part?
I woke up this morning and realized that I got stiffed by the stinking Tooth Fairy.