From the Files of Dental Squad

After canceling my last routine dental appointment because my brake system went down (new rotors, pads, and the whole 9 yards), I was able to get in for a new appointment today when someone else cancelled. It's always a chance to reestablish my "bad boy" street cred.

As I'm lying there, the hygienist pulls out my file--my file!--and says to me, "I see here you don't like to floss."

I really need to look in my file. What else is in there?



I don't bother to even deny it any more. I always assertively state that I don't like to floss. It just doesn't feel good, I say in my defense.

That's right! I flaunt the rules. I don't floss. I'm a bad boy. Lighten up, huh? Whaddaya gonna do about it, anyway?

Clearly they worry I'll infect their other patients with my attitude.

They used to try to sway me. But no more. Now they just let it go--and even note that I do a really good job of brushing.

Although what the heck kind of a compliment is that supposed to be?

Oh sure, from a dental environment that's probably high praise, indeed.

But we're talking tooth brushing. This isn't rocket science. Are there really legions of people out there who don't manage to rub a paste-covered brush across their teeth in a reasonably complete fashion two or three times a day--every day? Really? I'm noteworthy?

Maybe so. We do live in an age when masturbation can get you college credit (tip to Instapundit). College credit for that?

Is it really more complicated than the "if it feels good, do it" advice on life. How can you do that wrong? What? Are people rubbing a paste-covered brush across their other sensitive areas and not getting good results?

Let's not speak of flossing in this context. One shudders to explore those avenues of thought. Or I do, anyway. Your experience may be different.

Anyway. I have a dental reputation. My file is clear on that. I'm difficult. I'm a bad boy.



I scare them. A little, anyway. But inexplicably I'm a good boy on another measure.

Anyway, I got a good bill of health and I'm good another six months. Hey, nobody's putting a gun to their head to make them treat me.

Good grief, I'm so effing suburban. And to think I grew up in Detroit.