Confession: despite all my hipster posturing, I would give a non-essential organ to own real estate in Georgetown. Meandering through its charming, cobblestone streets can be absolutely transporting. And so it goes that this morning, as I was winding its streets in my Civic hybrid (thanks Zipcar!), I almost forgot that I was on my way to my least favorite place on earth: the dentist. Despite recent events, I have apparently not learned my lesson about routine oral healthcare because for the last several months I've been ignoring those pesky reminder cards. But finally, the $2000 lesson prevailed over my B-movie nightmares and I scheduled my routine check-up.
I arrived a few minutes late (i.e. right on time for me) and noticed a new face behind the receptionist desk. I gave her my last name and took a seat. She spent the next few minutes rifling through charts until one of the hygienists who knows me grabbed it off of a stack and handed it to her. Her response? "Oh, you didn't tell me you were Julia." I decided to let that one go, but the buzz from my drive along R Street officially began to wore off.
After depositing me in an exam chair (which I noticed had a new massage feature!), the hygienist asked me a few routine questions and left. A few minutes later my dentist popped in to gush, "Hey stranger! Where've you been? We've missed you!" and to inform me that he was running about twenty minutes behind schedule. Although I wanted to ask why one of the hygienists couldn't just floss me and be done with it, I smiled and picked up the paper and said no problem. True to his word, he returned twenty minutes later and got down to the business of cleaning my teeth. With his hand and a few instruments in my mouth he asked me to tell him what I'd been up to this spring (why dentists think this is an opportune time to chat is beyond me). I suppose he was also providing commentary on my oral health, but to be honest I was camped out in the Happy Place in my mind just wishing time would pass quicker and not really listening all that much.
When it was said and done, I stood up and he gave me a not-so-subtle once over. Conspiratorially, he whispered, "Have you lost weight? You look great." I tried not to squirm awkwardly and mumbled something innocuous in response. The thing is, I have lost weight. I've dropped a size or two, and sure, it's fun to wear clothes that haven't seen the light of day since I was in college, but it's nothing dramatic or anything and the fact that my dentist noticed kind of freaked me out. Not to throw out a total overshare here, but my freaking bikini waxer hasn't even noticed, and she sees me once a month! I realize this is the guy who noticed the dye job that managed to sneak by my co-workers, but I'm starting to think he has me tailed in between visits.
And so I found myself again overcome with a desperation to flee (never good when there's an AMEX involved), and I was so preoccupied with escaping that it took me a minute to process it when the receptionist confirmed my follow-up appointment for an Invisalign consultation. Huh? I asked her to explain. Apparently the doc voiced some concerns about the "crowding" of my bottom teeth and has recommended Invisalign for treatment. Which means? You guessed it. About five more appointments and another two grand. I cannot escape this man.
I arrived a few minutes late (i.e. right on time for me) and noticed a new face behind the receptionist desk. I gave her my last name and took a seat. She spent the next few minutes rifling through charts until one of the hygienists who knows me grabbed it off of a stack and handed it to her. Her response? "Oh, you didn't tell me you were Julia." I decided to let that one go, but the buzz from my drive along R Street officially began to wore off.
After depositing me in an exam chair (which I noticed had a new massage feature!), the hygienist asked me a few routine questions and left. A few minutes later my dentist popped in to gush, "Hey stranger! Where've you been? We've missed you!" and to inform me that he was running about twenty minutes behind schedule. Although I wanted to ask why one of the hygienists couldn't just floss me and be done with it, I smiled and picked up the paper and said no problem. True to his word, he returned twenty minutes later and got down to the business of cleaning my teeth. With his hand and a few instruments in my mouth he asked me to tell him what I'd been up to this spring (why dentists think this is an opportune time to chat is beyond me). I suppose he was also providing commentary on my oral health, but to be honest I was camped out in the Happy Place in my mind just wishing time would pass quicker and not really listening all that much.
When it was said and done, I stood up and he gave me a not-so-subtle once over. Conspiratorially, he whispered, "Have you lost weight? You look great." I tried not to squirm awkwardly and mumbled something innocuous in response. The thing is, I have lost weight. I've dropped a size or two, and sure, it's fun to wear clothes that haven't seen the light of day since I was in college, but it's nothing dramatic or anything and the fact that my dentist noticed kind of freaked me out. Not to throw out a total overshare here, but my freaking bikini waxer hasn't even noticed, and she sees me once a month! I realize this is the guy who noticed the dye job that managed to sneak by my co-workers, but I'm starting to think he has me tailed in between visits.
And so I found myself again overcome with a desperation to flee (never good when there's an AMEX involved), and I was so preoccupied with escaping that it took me a minute to process it when the receptionist confirmed my follow-up appointment for an Invisalign consultation. Huh? I asked her to explain. Apparently the doc voiced some concerns about the "crowding" of my bottom teeth and has recommended Invisalign for treatment. Which means? You guessed it. About five more appointments and another two grand. I cannot escape this man.
