I was working on a two-week binge, drinking nothing but Gold Robitussin and Pepto Bismol when my dentist appeared at my rectangular door to hold an intervention. He arrived with seven hygienists. My dentist, Dr. Carr, is tough. He has a face like a landscape. He confiscated my Hydrox (the cookie, not the general) and then the hygienists started to do a frenetic Twist to no music. One of the hygienists reminded me of Sam Waterston (her carriage, not her face) and then a hygienist with a nametag that spelled, Bambi approached me like a sound wave. She smiled. She had meat in her teeth. I was afraid. She materialized a length of black dental floss and began flossing, flicking shreds of masticated steak at me. One of them caught me in the eye, making me squint and through this squinting I saw how pointless my life had become. How empty. I had achieved none of my goals; I never became a goalie. Dr. Carr approached me holding a drill. My face was covered with little steak spitballs courtesy of Bambi. He looked right at me and said, “I’m not here to fill your teeth. I have come to awaken your inner antelope.” I rubbed the steak out of my eye and said, “Wha?” He said, “I understand if you’re skeptical. And it takes some getting used to but I’m quite sure you’ll enjoy the change. Now, I’ll need to drill into your kneecaps to drain them. The knee sap will then be utilized in the antelope ritual.” “Okay,” I murmured.
No comments:
Post a Comment