Visiting the dentist

Hh, the dentist

Ah, the dentist. A necessary evil wrapped neatly in a sterile room and the sound of a drill. No one really wants to go, do they? It’s a bit like attending a family reunion where you’ll inevitably be interrogated about your life’s choices—you endure it because you must. But there’s a certain elegance in pretending you’re unfazed, nonchalantly reclining in the chair as though you’re sunbathing in St. Tropez, not willingly surrendering your gums to a stranger.

The real artistry lies in the small talk. Discussing the weather mid-polish? Bravo, you’ve mastered the unsung Olympics of social interaction. And then there’s the dentist, always charmingly chatty, as if the one instrument not in use is the one that lets you reply. You don’t answer, of course, except for a vaguely comprehensible “mmhmm,” combining fear, regret, and, dare I say, submission.

Still, there’s a strange satisfaction in emerging with sparkling teeth and a misplaced optimism about flossing. You’ll resolve to do better… until next time. Because isn’t life just an endless cycle of well-meaning intentions and overdue reminders?

Cheerio, my dears! And remember: floss like no one’s watching. Always with style,

Yours (almost) effortlessly,

~