I Miss My Dentist

I miss my dentist.

The smell of burning tooth enamel. The curvy plastic chair with the headrest that bends my spine in unnatural ways. Answering questions with mmmmmfhgmmfmmhgfdm.

I use to want to instill in her the pain she so effortlessly cast upon me. Imagine Lord Voldemort with a dental degree. Now she's a long lost love. Imagine The Notebook. (Unfortunately, I'm not Ryan Gosling)

How can it be I was so lucky to get out? Now I'm doing everything possible to qualify for emergency dental care and visit someone without getting a socializing ticket. Timbits chased with coke.

I need to feel something. I need pain. Can you drill just a bit deeper? I don't wanna go home.

I miss my mechanic, too. He rotates my tires as I rotate my credit cards to pay for it. I need a new engine? Fine. Just please take 12 hours to do it. I don't wanna go home.

Other fun things I miss: lining up to renew my licence; buying my wife lady products; walking by Victoria's Secret and feigning disinterest; running into old high school friends; using a public washroom on the TTC.

I miss the good old days.