Go check out the links at Sayre's blog - to read more holiday stories.
Some of you know that I had a cracked tooth extracted and I am on track for an implant.
After wasting over a year dealing with the inept medical office of an oral surgeon, I asked my general dentist to send me elsewhere.
The referred specialist is a much better fit for me. His office functions like a synchronized swim team. He is confident and efficient.
The only thing that bothered me is his weird sense of humor. Every time my mouth was occupied with fingers and stainless steel instruments he would joke without mercy.
Just two weeks ago I was stretching my jaw as far as it would extend, when he started.
“Oh NO!” He gasped. “It’s not there! You've sucked it into your head!”
I rolled my eyes – which was a much more relaxed response then my first wide-eyed terror to one of his remarks.
My guess is that he is just a serial tease, so I always watched to see how the hygienist responded and then ignored him.
But I don’t forget. That’s why I decided to get him good at my last appointment.
I searched for and found my trusty old remote fart machine; a very entertaining and reliable practical joker.
I was well prepared when I arrived at the clinic last Wednesday - the final exam that would pronounce me ready for my dentist and the new tooth.
My plan was to place the speaker in the outside pocket of my purse and set it close to his stool. Then, when he bent over, I would press the control button. I even had a comment ready for the precise moment.
I checked in with the reception desk and waited patiently for the kill. My purse was loaded. The smile on my face was sly.
A woman and her daughter entered the building and immediately the Doctor met them and greeted them warmly at the hallway door. It was his family.
There was some kind of happy discussion ensuing when the best laid plans of mice and men went haywire. Something nearby must have matched my remote frequency.
“Phooooooooooot, baroooom, poot poot poot.”
The little electronic farter started rolling them out as fast as it could go and would not stop.
I thought I’d never get into my purse and find the off switch.
Picture me pulling my shoulders up sheepishly; accompanied by a half smile, half grimace.
“Uh… excuse me?”
Later, when I met him in the examining room he assured me that my implant looked great.
“Why don’t you come back once the tooth is in place so I can observe how the healed tissue reacts to the foreign material,” he said. “And, to see if you can get your little gadget working correctly.”
His grin widened, his eyes twinkled before he added, “Then I will bend over and say ‘This may cause some discomfort. Would you like a little gaaaaasssss?'”
Oh Yes. He got the last laugh.
(He’s lucky his fingers weren’t in my mouth. I would have bitten him.)
We had an understanding at the mall. I kept track of them, but stayed my distance. (As any un-cool mother must do so as not to embarrass her 12 year old daughter.)
We had a fun shopping day and I had been the perfect host. ( She'd not once groaned “Oooohh mom” or rolled her eyes.)
It was an “Alls well that ends well” scenario as we headed for home.
That is, until I saw the brand new furniture store from the freeway. (Several signs advertised rock bottom sales.)
I had been browsing some stores closer to home looking for a new living room couch. I took the nearest exit with high hopes that I might find one that I liked - on sale.
After I parked the car, we headed into the brightly illuminated showroom. (The girls weren’t interested, but thought it would be less boring than waiting in the car. Boy howdy!)
A queasiness crept up on me as I looked at styles and compared prices. We were at the farthest end of the huge sales floor when the cramps hit me. (Like a hammer.)
“Oh No……….where’s the ladies room?” I whispered frantically, took one step towards the girls, and lost control.
Praise be! It was only gas! But, it was amazingly offensive. (Loud and long and disSTINKtly malodorous.)
“Oh mom, how could you, Oh! Oh! OH!” My daughter’s mortified expression made my stomach hurt more.
I’d done the unpardonable. (“Dear God, why didn’t you give me sons for a time like this?”)
My heart beat wildly and I could barely speak, “Girls, leave! Car, now!”
Each of my steps was accompanied by a syncopated release of methane. (The proverbial purple cloud formed as I hustled.)
When the situation reached the two girls noses they covered their faces and let their feet fly to the distance exit. (They waited but pretended they didn’t know me.)
I began to laugh. (Hysteria.) That door was miles away and I was going to melt into a puddle before I got anywhere near it.
Thank goodness some resolve formed and determination overruled. I scouted out the direct route and set my jets. (A surprisingly accurate description.)
The young male clerk at the opposite end of the store, however, had observed our odd behavior and was determined to offer his services.
My escape was in sight and I refused to make eye contact with anyone. (Eyes on the goal, you know) The toxic bloom increased with my speed.
Recognizing my intent, the clerk altered his zig zag route just in time to intercept me about 20 feet short of the door.
“Can…. I help you….. ladies …..find something,” he spoke with short breaths. (Induced by an open sprint and several long jumps over displays.)
I just wanted to get out of there. (I was aimed and fully loaded.) I had no patience nor any desire to share space with him and the asphyxiating cloud that would be arriving in short order.
Without slowing, I physically brushed him aside, mumbled some desperate apology about losing track of time, and vaulted for the exit. (That rude little push was nothing compared with the lethal assault coming for his nostrils.)
The automatic door couldn’t open fast enough, and I was in my car in a nano- second. (They didn’t have nano seconds back then, but I’d already borrowed into future years of embarrassment and I deserve that description.)
My shame was so complete and so deep that I don’t remember much else after that. Not the hour plus drive home. Not dropping the friend off at her home. Darn! I don’t even remember her name.
The poor flatulently abused child never graced our home with her presence again. (I doubt she forgot my name. Can’t you just picture her pointing me out to her parents at the next PTA meeting?)
It wasn’t very long after this incident (and my memory back in working order) that I found a suitable new couch in a different store. That leads me to the 2nd most humiliating day in my life. But, you’re not going to hear about it today.
Please link here to read something more inspirational and encouraging from the other Fun participants. (And then pretend that you don’t know me, either.)
Crunchy Bits is the host and the instigator of this week's confession. Go join the FUN!
I share glass partitions and the late afternoon sun with coworkers. They are good people.
Doreen stopped to discuss some paperwork and he picked up his refillable water bottle. She had his undivided attention while he took a healthy swig.
Immediately his eyes grew wide in horror, his cheeks inflated, and his body jerked right then left.
Doreen let out a muffled cry of alarm, dropped her books and bag on his desk, and moved towards him in confusion.
Doreen began to fear the worst.
“For the life of me,” she said later, “I was so confused. My mind started racing through the possibilities. Heart attack? Seizure? Choking?”
Fortunately Dan quickly regained mental control. Still making gurgling sounds, he jerked the garbage receptacle from beneath his desk and dispatched the contents of his mouth in revulsion.
“Uh! A grasshopper!” cried Doreen, her eyes bugged in astonishment as it emerged from Dan’s spittle before it even reached its destination.
When the drama ended, I laughed so hard I was afraid I might damage my post surgery sinuses.
Dan made some cryptic remark towards me again about “your little friend,”
“My friend?” I retorted, “You’ve had a much more intimate relationship with that bug than me!”
Then, as a sort of afterthought he replied, “If that’s its modus operandi, I’m surprised it’s not missing more legs.”
That kept me giggling out the door and most of the way home.
Today he admitted that once I departed the premises he made sure that it would never happen again.
(I’ve noticed that Dan now secures the cap on his water bottle after each use.)
**He called it 3 legged because it was missing one leg. In actuality, it was 5-legged, as it was missing one of it's 6 legs.
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