Am I too old to hate the dentist?  I’ve gathered that I’m past the point of being able to hate hair cuts, so I’ve forced myself to not cry in the styling chair after every cut and at least wait until I get outside the salon.

But I’m not sure I can get over my disdain for the dentist.  I went last week and I still can’t shake the yucks.  It’s just so awful to be stuck in a chair with a mouth full of blood listening to a woman in a kitty cat smock alternate between telling you that don’t floss correctly and recounting stories of her daughter getting cyber bullied.  And then she wrapped up the entire session by telling me that if my bottom right wisdom tooth keeps growing “like that,” she’s going to have to pull it.  With her menacing tone and waggy finger, she might as well have said, “And that’s not a threat, little lady.  That’s a promise.”

When I left, the receptionist gave me an appointment reminder.  (That, by the way, is fashioned to look like a theatre ticket.  It looks more like a bat mitzvah center piece that a dental check up slip.)  I haven’t put it in my calendar yet because I just really don’t want to go again.

Why am I being such a baby about this?  And why do I still wish they gave out toys at the dentist’s?  I guess that second question is just a sub-question of the first.