So about a year or so ago, I was at the dentist. It was the first time in about five years that I had gone to the dentist, and so I ended up having a bunch of cavities. I know, I know, I should go to the dentist more, but there’s this one little issue that I have about hating every dentist in the worlds fucking guts. That, and when it comes to dealing with them scraping my mouth with metal shit and drilling holes, I am quite a little pansy. And so, since I am such a pansy about it, I figured, “Hey, maybe I’ll just try that sedation dentistry shit. Worse comes to worst I’ll at least have been able to take some sweet drugs.” And sweet drugs did I take. I honestly believe the world may be a better place if we simply pumped Valium into the drinking water supply. (Did you know that Valium works as a muscle relaxant? So the messages from the brain to the muscles are much fewer and far between. This can be dangerous, because if you’re laying down and you want to stand up, it takes your legs about ten seconds of slowly lower your weight onto your legs until they’re actually ready, otherwise you’ll start to fall. But not your standard fall. I mean like that video of those ladies at the end of the Iron Man race who were so destroyed that it looked as if their legs just didn’t really want to do what they wanted them to do. That kind of falling. (Also, for those of you who care to know, ejaculation takes place when the male’s pelvic muscles engage in a series of quick muscles contractions, forcing the ejaculate from the genitals. Muscle relaxants slow the brain signals and muscle contractions, so when you have sex (or masturbate, I suppose) on muscle relaxants, you aren’t really finished when you think you’re finished, and ten minutes later you think you’ve just pissed your pants because it gets warm and then you go to the bathroom and realize what it actually is so you just kind of get really confused while you look for some tissues and a new pair of underwear. So I’ve heard.)) But if everyone took a little bit of Valium, nobody would get road rage because nobody would ever feel like driving faster than 45 MPH on the highway, domestic violence rates would go down because every red-necked, wife-beating deadbeat would realize, “Meh, she ain’t that bad,” and political debates would have just the mildest, ever so slight tingle of tolerability.
But either way, let us fast forward to what happened after the procedures. I woke up in my bed, (after all those drugs generally the only thing you really want to do is sleep) groggy and sore. Just like I do after any bender, I try to recall just what the fuck actually happened. I remember going in, sitting down in the chair, and then waking up in my bed ten hours later. So first and foremost, I’m trying to figure out how I can get a hold of more of these drugs. But then I decide to deal with that another time, and go downstairs to talk to my dad.
My dad was the one who transported my stoned ass to and from the dentist. So I asked him what happened when I was there. For the most part, apparently, I was very good, until I gained more consciousness and the ability to talk back. The general policy for any time that a patient is sedated is to transport the patient from the doctors’ office to their car via wheelchair. I did not like this. Apparently, I said, “I don’t need a fucking wheelchair. I’ve got fucking legs.” I’m not on the best terms with the support staff at my dentist’s office anymore. And then, I’m told, I became quite hungry on the way home. My dad asked me, “Do you want a burger? We can go to Kopp’s if you want. Or do you want something big, like a Whopper?” “No,” I replied, “Whoppers are for pussies. I want Wendy’s,” (What an interesting choice of words, as you will see). I apparently only ate like, half of it before I went to my room and passed out.
But then as I was truly coming around, I noticed that the underside of my tongue was quite sore. I went to the mirror and looked, and the son-of-a-bitch dentist carved me up good. You know how your tongue has that connector piece underneath it? Well, mine was very large, in that it went fairly far up the underside of my tongue, almost to the tip. This, apparently, isn’t the way that everyone else’s tongue is. Apparently, normal people’s tongue connector doesn’t go very far up the tongue at all. And it looked as if my dentist had decided to just go right on ahead and cut my connector off. So I’m pissed, because I all of a sudden just have these open sores on the underside of my tongue that hurt anytime I eat/drink/talk/breathe/hold my breath/brush my teeth/etc. And then I get to thinking, “why the hell did he do that?” Well, my friends, let me take you back to my appointment before this sedation procedure.
I was sitting there, and the assistant was doing her thing with cleaning and checking my teeth, when she said, “Oh, you’re tongue-tied.” I had no idea what she was talking about, and she proceeded to tell me that the connector underneath my tongue shouldn’t be that far forward. I brushed it off because I truly did not give a single shit about my tongue connector. So then my dentist came in. Here is how the dialogue went from the moment he noticed my tongue connector:
Dentist: Oh, you’re still tongue tied.
Me: Yeah, I guess, I just found out that this wasn’t “normal” like 3 minutes ago.
Dentist: Well, don’t worry, we can take care of that, just a snip or two. It’ll take like two minutes.
Me: I mean, I don’t know about that, I haven’t had an issue with it.
Dentist: You’d be surprised. It’ll give your tongue more mobility and range of movement. It’ll come in handy, trust me.
And as he said “trust me,” he winked.
At first, I didn’t make anything of it, but then I realized. Did he really just do that? Did he really just make a sex joke to one of his patients? Did he really literally just commit malpractice for the sake of helping me become a better lay? Does he realize that I can never go back to his office again, not because I’m offended, but because the waiting room has pictures of everyone in his family, including his wife, and I won’t be able to get that horribly disturbing image out of my head. Shit, no wonder this guy has five kids already.
As awkward as my entire time with that dentist was, he wasn’t so bad. I mean, he gave me great drugs, made me healthier, and helped my performance. Nevertheless, he was my dentist, and I don’t want my dentist making sex jokes. Not if he’s going to be spending so much time in my mouth. But anyway, to anyone who felt really uncomfortable reading this, sorry. And to any women who have spent roughly 15-25 (depending on how drunk I may have been) minutes of mildly regrettable and thoroughly average passion with me, 1) I am so, so sorry; and 2) you can thank my dentist for it not being truly regrettable and below average.