I should have brushed my teeth before I came. Everybody does that. I'm sure to the dentist, it's like cheating; but I don't think they mind. How could they, anyway? I could just say I've been chewing gum. No, my dentist knows me too well for me to get away with that. I don't chew gum. I never have. I'll eat uncooked foods, use my mouth as a tertiary hand, and even share a cigar with someone that smokes as if they have lips built for someone twice their ethnicity, but chewing on the same piece of rubber for thirty minutes to an hour just irks me. I bet other people could get away with the excuse, though. Just not me. Besides, I didn't have time to go home and brush my teeth anyway. I'm also not the kind that carries a toothbrush with them, anyway.

Aren't these places supposed to have toothbrushes or something in the bathrooms, anyway? I walked into the bathroom when I initially arrived and pretended to pee, while frantically searching the barren wasteland of wicker and landscape portraits for a toothbrush. They had toothbrushes at their old office. This new office scares me because it combines the disgusting connotations of a dental office with the formality of a Roman Catholic cathedral. The hygiene rooms (which are open type, for you architects) actually have ceilings which resemble inverted steeples, leading me to believe that on the outside of this astoundingly large office are several steeples. I should check when I leave. Steeples would be quite a compliment to the aqueduct leading to a fish pond they have out front. I swear, this place could double as a spa and you wouldn't be able to tell the difference.

When I first sat down, the dental hygienist asked me what channel I wanted to watch (they have TVs in these rooms, too). I said I didn't care, so she put it very conveniently on the one channel I dislike the most: CNN. On top of that, the O'Reilly Factor was on.

Right now she's doing something with my teeth. I'd be more specific, but I can't exactly get up and take a peek, nor can I ask, as for all I know this miniature belt sander could be one syllable from taking a chunk of my tongue off. All I can tell is that the sound it makes slightly resembles an industrial-strength screwdriver that insists on stripping the screw to a fine powder. I can't even open my eyes right now, although I always felt it'd be kind of awkward anyway. I mean, where am I going to look? The TV's on the wall and I'm lying on my back in the most vulnerable position deemed acceptable by society next to being handcuffed to my bedpost. The dental light is shining right in my eyes, which I'm told is as powerful as about a thousand or so candles. It's nice to know I'm surrounded by machinery that could blind, deafen, defile, and kill me in less than a minute. CNN, I mean. The dental equipment is pretty ominous, too. My old hygienist always aimed the light just below my eyes, though. It's not like they need to take a peek at my retinae. Maybe she's just doing this so I won't open my eyes and spend the next twenty minutes awkwardly staring up her nose, pretending to look at the ceiling.

I'm drooling like a dog, too. She hasn't used the suction on me, either. She's drilled away a quadrant of my upper teeth and hasn't used the suction. Maybe she'll use it when she's done with the whole arch. I wonder how long ago she got out of dental school; or rather, how long she has until she gets out of dental school. I'd hate to know I'm having my teeth cleaned by a first-year dental student with a degree like Women's Studies or some Foreign History. You know, some completely worthless degree that'll only help her as a conversation starter at parties later in her life.

She hasn't used the suction yet, by the way. She's on my bottom teeth now and hasn't even washed their incredibly strong toothpaste off yet. I can't ask for the water/suction, either, because every time she takes the rotor out of my mouth, she leaves the mouth mirror in. I think she's deliberately doing this. This is some sort of punishment for not flossing every day, or some other error I'm making in my oral hygiene. Dentists never tell me if I'm doing something wrong. They tear my mouth up like a blender then say," You're doing great! Keep up the good work." I'd kill for a dentist that would say in a Larry David-esque tone," Ehhhhhh. Could you go a little easier on the toothbrush? You're scratching the enamel off." On that note, I'd kill for anybody in my life to talk like Larry David. To this day, I've never met someone that does it on a daily basis. If I ever hear someone say," Pretty good. Prettay, prettay, prettay good," in public, I'll marry them on-sight. But I digress.

She didn't even ask me what flavor I wanted. I always choose bubble gum. It's a bit of a paradox since I don't chew gum, but I find the taste of bubble gum slightly less obtrusive than gingiva-melting menthol. Don't tell me I'm too old to get bubble gum-flavored products. They sell bubble gum flavored vodka, thus proving the fact that you're never too old for things that taste like bubble gum. I'll kill myself when I turn sixty if I find out that there aren't any geriatric, bubble gum flavored enemas. It's jus- Oh, she took the mouth mirror and the Terminator out. Pounce on it. Pounce on it!

"Could I ha' some wa'er?"
"Oh sure thing, honey! I was jus' about to get you some."

My dental hygienist is black, by the way. I'm not a racist, I swear. It's just that when you see a black person in Locust Valley, you tend to spread the word a little. Note that I specifically remember not hearing a "t" in the "just". Also note that my lack of consonants was because my mouth was filling to the brim with mint-flavored turtle wax and saliva. Oh God. I accidentally drooled a little on my collar. It should have hit the bib. Why did it miss the bib? I'll never get that out. It's a really nice, shirt, too. " Hey Dill, looking good today! But what's that stain?" "Don't worry about it, Ted, it's just my own spit."

I'm not sure which sound is more terrifying right now: the sound of my teeth being ground away at 600RPM or Bill O'Reilly's voice. This is really an inconvenient situation. I wish escort services did things like this. On that subject, why don't they specialize in more things that are considered uncomfortable in their natural setting? I mean, massages and dinner are alright, but the experience of doing my taxes, grocery shopping, or getting my periodic dental checkup would be much easier if they were done by someone in lingerie named after a spice (my favorite is Basil).

Looking back, she was mighty rough on that water. Usually they just rinse it in, but it almost seemed like she was spraying it in. In fact, I know she was, because for the first second or so it was being rinsed in all fine and dandy, but then it suddenly started shooting into my mouth. Did I offend her by prematurely requesting water? I think dental hygienists have very strange ways of getting back at people; but then again, I'd probably do the same. I would ask my patient questions they couldn't possibly answer easily while I was working on their teeth.

"So Fred, why did you wife leave you?"

"Jimmy, what's your favorite song and why?"

"Margaret, what's the first memory you have as a child?"

-"And we're done, honey! You're teeth are looking all good. Keep up the good work!"