Yesterday I went to the orthodontist to have my braces tightened (yeah, I have braces. Ick.) . I know some people are afraid of dentists, but I don't see why. They're just dentists, jeez. It's an irrational fear. They aren't going to stab you in the heart with a dental pick or anything like that.
I must admit, though, that all the instruments they use- or most of them, anyway- are quite pointy, even though they don't have to be. When I went to have my braces put in, the orthie started looking around inside my mouth with a thingy with pointy ends, which turned out to be somewhat painful when she accidentally poked me. She could have done that with a blunt sticky-thing, right? But nooooo, we must poke the patients! Rule #39 of the Dentists' Handbook, I'm sure.
It's not that I don't like my orthodontist; she's a nice person. It's just, you know, I'm not too excited about getting jabbed with the pointy end of a little metal stick.
Other than that, though, dentistry is all right, I suppose.
Well... I could do without the braces, but I guess if I'm going to get straight teeth out of it, it's worth a shot. And my teeth aren't pointing in all directions, all willy-nilly, they're fairly alright, so the braces will only be in for ten months, twelve tops. ... ... ... You can tell I'm forcing myself to be optimistic, can't you?
Oh, well. They're in now, so all I can do is wait.
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