Filling….

I had my second visit to the Dentist in as many weeks confirming that things really do just start to fall apart, bones become brittle and strange things happen to your body within days of celebrating your thirty-sixth birthday

This time, it was a vanity visit.

Last week during my scheduled cleaning, I mentioned I had a tiny chip, ever so small on my top, middle, front tooth and I wondered what I should do about it.

My Dentist looked at the wee chip that we couldn’t really call a chip, more of a paper cut in the Dental-bus. He suggested most people (including himself) wouldn’t do anything but if I did want to smooth it out, he would be happy to put a small filling on it. I agreed to the small filling because quite frankly, the small indentation was so miniscule, he told me it wouldn’t take more than ten minutes, would not require any freezing, needles and I could start cracking beer bottles with my teeth again by late afternoon.

When he asked how I chipped (again, chipped makes it sound massive, it really was more of a hairline fracture) the tooth, I told him my standard, “I think it was from over-flossing.” Long pause. What really happened? The truth is, I’m not exactly sure but if I had to guess, it might have come off the day after I turned thirty-six when I was biting off one of those plastic clothing tags from one of the girl’s new back-to-school tops, an exercise I’m not proud of and now that I’m older than thirty-five, I realize I have officially bitten off more than I can chew.

I sat in the chair relaxed. The kids were being looked after and while some find a visit to the Dentist an abysmal outing they dread, this was an hour to myself in a somewhat comfortable chair with a mildly distasteful scent lingering in the air but certainly not offensive. As far as outings go, this ranks up there as a good one.

I noticed my chart held by a magnet on a shelf next to the chair. In bold print, my name and the word “Bitewings” next to some x-rays of my teeth. Bitewings. Is that what they’re calling the unruly thirty-six year olds these days? Obviously the dental community knows what a bitewing is but the average person may not. Why not just code them BW’s and spare my feelings?

“Do you want to watch a show?” My entertainment selection was a video of a concert for a band I don’t know and season two of All In The Family. Pass. I was actually enjoying just staring at the wall a la David Puddy from Seinfeld.

The Dentist asked the hygienist what colour to use for the filling and they both agreed on A-1. This can mean a couple of things. 1) I have the best shade of teeth ever—A-1!  2) it’s the worst and they knew Z-26 would seem far too obvious so they’ve reversed the order and made A-1 the most horrific shade of brown which gibes with my other theory; they’re the colour of A-1 sauce.

The Dentist pushed my upper lip out of the way, held in place by a cotton swab while his apprentice did her best to soak my shirt and back of my shoulders with an out of control sprinkler head.

He quickly dabbed on some liquid paper or perhaps the aforementioned sauce and as promised within ten minutes I was drying off and heading to the counter to pay.

When I was told my tiny striation, ten minutes of a soaker hose and less than a white-out brush stroke’s worth of filler was $193 I looked around to see if I was in fact paying the bill for the family of five waiting to check out behind me.

I realized the Dental industry is a lucrative one especially when catering to those thirty-six and over.

I just hope I don’t need anything done to my Bitewings anytime soon.

Or am I Bitewing?

Please advise.

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