Went to the dentist today for a crown prep. Isn’t it sad when you start looking forward to major dental work because of the nitrous? And the potential to get a script for Vicodin?
“Karen, we’re going to need to put a crown on that tooth.”
“Great! How soon can we do it?”
I love having the opportuninty to sit in a chair for two hours, thinking nitrous oxide thoughts and spinning stories in my head, while someone drills my tooth down to a stump. Back in my 20s, I used to enjoy that same floating feeling after smoking some really good pot and sitting in front of a blaring stereo.
Some people hate the dentist. I do not understand this, myself. After the novacaine shots, you can’t feel anything anyway. Those people hovering above me with their strange, midieval-looking instruments could be removing all my teeth and replacing them with colored beads; I could care less as long as they keep the gas coming.
I’m back at work now and am more or less coherent. When I talk I sound like a stroke victim or a person with Down’s. This has been very entertaining for my work mates. I’m so glad I can provide that kind of quality entertainment for them.