A classic (read outdated) riddle that I often crack to break any notion people might have of me being an intelligent woman, along with the ice, goes something like this:
What’s the right time to go to a dentist?
Yep, you guessed it. And don’t say I didn’t warn ya!
And so it begins – my visits to the dentist, albeit a new one. The difference is that apart from being more economical and ethical, this one is a man, and even knows how to play the guitar! That in no way means that he performs during our appointments.
So anyway, after a re-filling (?) of a left, top molar and dropping Rs 800, I asked him if I could get my top front two incissors wired. They jut out, you see, in such a way that I look like a grinning rabbit in all my close-up photographs. It's hard to look sexy when the only asset the guy looks at is your bunny teeth.
So here I was, horizontal on a dentist’s chair (again!) with a metal plate oozing of a smelly, green gooey paste being pushed against my palate. This was to take the impression of my upper set of dentals, I was told. He might as well have strangled me before robbing me!
Having calmed my gag reflexes by following the instructions from my dentist (heyyy…!) and counting till 20, I was plate-free once again. I was also Rs 2,200 lighter the following week when I went to pick up my wired retainer.
Now, I look like a dork when I smile. But at least I have a new one-liner:
Why are they called dentists?
Because they make a dent in your wallet!
Geddit?! I don’t care what you say, I think its funny!
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