Princess MoMo

In order to fully grasp the terminology in this post, you must familiarize yourself with the first in the series of Princess MoMo’s Dentist Adventures.

Every six months, I grant permission to a certain individual and his minions to enter into my oral kingdom for purposes of cleaning the peasants and their homes.  I store the date for this semi-annual occurrence in my ever-reliable mental calendar.  This year, oral kingdom spring cleaning was scheduled for April 19 at 7:30 a.m.  Approximately one week prior to said spring cleaning, a call came through on my device.  A woman to whom I had never spoken called to “remind” me of an appointment I had scheduled for April 20 at 6:30 p.m.  I informed her that my appointment was actually scheduled for April 19 in the morning.  She stated that the office no longer does mornings and that my appointment was moved to April 20 in the evening. Strike 1.

I’m a reasonable person, so I didn’t make a production about the unilateral rescheduling of the appointment.  However, what followed was nothing short of bullshitary. 

I appeared at the oral kingdom specialist’s office.  At the front desk was a face unfamiliar to me, despite having patronized this office for several years.  But, she knew my name (probably because I was the last appointment scheduled for the day).

I sat down and commented on my facebook posts while waiting to see my regular, somewhat attractive dentist.  The new front desk girl summoned me into the back room torture chamber.  There, I was greeted by another new face.  This hygienist stated that she started three days ago.  Strike 2.  The peasants began quivering within the oral kingdom.  Fortunately, this newly hired hygienist did nothing more than tie a bib around the neck of the Princess.  In spite of being cloaked with this saliva shield, I was not equipped for what came next. 

A man walked into the torture chamber.  I turned my head expecting to see my friendly, semi-cute dentist BUT instead, an aged y-chromosomed being greeted me.  I was in shock.  I said to him, “Who are you?”  He introduced himself.  Had I walked into an alternate universe?  Alcoholic beverages aside, admission to the oral kingdom is very limited.  Needless to say, the Princess was less than thrilled at the prospect of a strange old man probing her mouth.  

 He came closer to my being and began using his fingers to tamper with the oral kingdom.  He asked me to do odd things with my tongue as he reached into the depths my mouth.  All the while, he was impeding on my breathing processes because his breath was very undentistly (read: unpleasant).  The stench of his oral serfdom left me with two options: suffocate or endure nausea.  I alternated between the two.

Then began the typical dentist lectures.  His qualm with me was my remaining three wisdom teeth.  He asked, “Have you been hounded about your wisdom teeth?”  I tried to utter, “Yes,” but I couldn’t properly form the word since he was compromising the integrity of my speech by manipulating my mouth.  He poked at my top left wisdom tooth, followed by my bottom left one and my bottom right one.  He next began his quest for my top right wisdom tooth.  Clearly, he had not studied the history of my oral kingdom.  He couldn’t find this tooth because it had been banished.  He began to search more aggressively for it and I literally swatted his hand out of my mouth.  I told him that I was robbed of this wisdom and that I refused to exile anymore of the peasants from the oral kingdom unless he could prove their insurgency.  I then tuned him out and tried to breath as little as possible in an effort to avoid having my nasal passage assaulted by the noxious waste emanating from the orifice on his face.  He completed the cleaning and then told me he would give me a referral to a wisdom-tooth removal individual.  I told him to save the card for I did not intend to part with my remaining wisdom.  He said, “If you were smart, you’d prove it to me by getting rid of your wisdom teeth.”  I responded, “You can think I’m dumb then, but my teeth will not be taken away from me.”  Strike 3.

After this traumatic experience, I was sent to the front desk once again and the doctor instructed the front desk girl to give me some bullshit referral cards.  At this point, I had a lot of unanswered questions.  So I asked the new front desk girl, “What the fuck is going on here?”  I proceeded to explain to her that they tried to pull the wool over my head with the appointment switch-a-roo, and then her presence threw me off, and finally, that no one prepared me for the dentist substitution.  I also instructed her to throw away any referral cards she intended to give me because I have no use for them.  She apologized and gave me some nonsense story.  The only good thing that came out of this visit, is this blog post.  THE END.