The Confessional… erm, dentist

I was struck by a thought today, as I lay in a dentist chair, staring up at the hygenist polishing my teeth:

A visit to the dentist is like a visit to the confessional where the Father already knows everything about you.

Seriously, think about it!

Me: Forgive me, Father Dentist, for I have sinned. It has been two years since my last cleaning.

Father Dentist: What is the reason for your visit?

Me: I have been guilty of eating impure foods, Father.

Father Dentist: What kind of impure foods, my child?

Me: Beef Jerky and Oreos.

Father Dentist: What you have done is grievous in the sight of the X-ray machine, as shown by this obscure and indecipherable dark spot in this tiny little picture, but forgiveable. As penance, do two fillings and a root canal, two “brush dailies”, and a “Hail Mary” flossing.

Sister Dental Hygienist climbs into the confessional, leaning over my face with floss in hand, and begins to pry quarter pounders, old pieces of gum, and sub-compact vehicles from the gaps between my teeth.

Sister Dental Hygienist: Tell me, child, do you floss?

Me: Of course I floss!

Sister Dental Hygienist: How often?

Me: Well, let me think … when was my last cleaning?

I feel rather silly when visiting the dentist, actually. Before visiting the dentist, I brush. Twice in a row. And floss, even if I haven’t flossed in a few days.

Think about that for a second, though. Isn’t that a bit like changing your oil before visiting the Jiffy Lube? I heard a comedian on the radio the other day suggesting that maybe, rather than brushing our teeth before visiting the dentist, we should make those hygienists earn their keep.

Next time, I’ll eat Oreos in the waiting room. Without any milk. And chase it down with some beef jerky.