venti dork

Dear Dentist (Who Looks Like Chris Evans, Which Makes Going to the Dentist So Completely Awesome That I May Never Brush My Teeth Again):

I would like to express my sincere appreciation regarding the new massage chairs which you have installed in your practice. They are totally awesome. It was a pleasant surprise to have my back lightly massaged while one of your hygienists lacerated my gums as she furiously picked at my teeth and reminded me, in a fairly passive-aggressive fashion, to floss. I also really appreciate the free toothbrush, even though I have one of those fancy electric things, and the one you gave me today will be used more for cleaning the grout in between the tiles in my shower and less for cleaning my teeth. Still: much appreciated.

What I would like to talk to you about is when, exactly, it became a faux pas for me to try to snag a toy out of the toy box at the end of the appointment. I don’t remember having a conversation with you about this. I don’t remember you offering me a bouncy ball or a sweet plastic ring with a giant fake ruby or even a sticker with an anthropomorphized molar proclaiming how awesome I was during the fluoride torture, to which I held up my hands and laughingly responded, “No, no thanks - I’m too old for that!” and we had a good chuckle about it before I left your office. We did not have that conversation.

Like, I get it: going to the dentist is traumatizing for kids, and I understand that bribery is necessary to avoid a temper tantrum of epic proportions. Go to the dentist, get a toy, maybe even a sticker too, everybody wins. But why does this have to stop? It’s not like when you turn, what, 18? that going to the dentist suddenly becomes awesome, negating the need to entice people with treats. Sure, I’m 30 and you shouldn’t have to bribe me with shiny trinkets to get me to come back in six months (the threat of gingivitis and/or rogue bicuspids and/or incisors which are curiously devoid of enamel apparently isn’t enough to get me to come back in July) but you know what? It couldn’t hurt. I want the Goddamn bouncy ball.

Yours sincerely,
K