"Dentist: a prestidigitator who, putting metal into your mouth, pulls coin out of your pocket."*

Lots of folks hate going to the dentist. I never hated going to the dentist, that is, until I started to hate my dentist. Alright, hate's a strong word. I just really dislike him and his fancy Lexus and his perfect hair and his money-grubbing scheme practice.

I was telling my friend Susan, the almost 50-year-old who whooped my butt on our hiking trip (there, Susan, happy now?), that I have become increasingly frustrated at how every visit to the dentist results in a sales pitch. She told me that there are actually consultants in the business of showing dentists how they can make more money. Well, that explains it.

There are the typical services that I always question the need for, like fluoride treatments and sealants for the kids. (Isn't there fluoride in our water?) And x-rays. (How often are they really necessary?) But in the past year or so I've also been sold a mouth guard to stop me from grinding my teeth (though Rob claims he's never heard me grind my teeth), and the dental henchmen hygienists have tried to sell me on oral cancer screenings even though I have none of the naughty habits that make me predisposed to oral cancer.

The tipping point for me and Dr. Smilemaker, however, was Botox. His office is full of promotional materials for Botox. HONESTLY?? So basically, anything on my face is fair game now?? What's next, nose jobs? Eye lash tinting? Eyebrow waxing? Facial scrubs? Nose hair trimming?


The Botox push (which he was smart enough to NOT recommend to me) was followed by the scam whereby he tried to milk me for more than a cool grand for a procedure until I resisted and he settled less than half of that. I told you about that one in my post on "The Fine Art of Negotiation."

Since you're so kindly letting me vent on this issue, I'd like to close with a list of other dental misdemeanors:

• When injecting Novocaine, remarking that this will feel "just like a bee sting." Really? I can't recall having ever been stung in my GUMS before, so that's probably not a real accurate description.
• Asking me to bite down and tell you how everything feels...after I've had three bee stings in the mouth. Um, you actually expect me to be able to feel something??
• Requiring me to don protective, orange-tinted, wrap-around plastic glasses like 90-year-olds wear, under the guise of "protecting my eyes." Are you telling me to expect shrapnel to come flying from my mouth? Aren't you actually trying to hide my eyes from your view so you can't see the fear and hatred in them?
• Informing me of every move you're making while working on my teeth. As if I'm going to stop you and suggest a different instrument or option?
• Telling me I can't eat for 30 minutes after a fluoride treatment or, until the Novocaine wears off. You realize that even if I noshed at an all-you-can eat buffet for two hours before my appointment, the minute you tell me I can't eat as soon as I leave here, I'm going to be ravenously hungry, sick, and near starvation.

Whew. You can tell this dentist issue has been gnawing at me. Hope I didn't bite off more than I can chew with this post. I think it's a topic I just really needed to sink my teeth into.

Happiness is your dentist telling you it won't hurt and then having him catch his hand in the drill.  ~Johnny Carson

*Thanks to Ambrose Bierce for the title quote.