Ooooh! A Happy Pinch!

I had posted a note the other day about Little Smoot's recent dentist appointment. This brought to mind another story from one of her past visits there.

She had gotten a cavity back around when she was 6, and we went into the office to get it filled. As we entered, I was explaining to her that she was going to get a shot of novacaine, and it would sting a bit.

As soon as I said, "They're going to give you a shot..." the two dental hygienist ladies abruptly stopped what they were doing, looked at me and literally gasped in unison. They gave me approximately the same look of stunned astonishment you'd give someone if they lit up a joint in church.

Apparently they thought it was inconceivable that someone would tell their kid she was going to get a shot, merely because she was about to get a shot. Once one of the women was able to regain her composure enough that she could speak, she sternly said to me, "We don't call them shots. We call them Happy Pinches!"

Ah. Yes, of course. That'll make it feel soooo much better for her! I assume a Happy Pinch must involve singing and dancing and clowns and balloons and a whimsical numbing sensation of the mouth, whereas a shot would involve, at minimum, instant death.

Well, for the record, Little Smoot has never freaked out about getting shots -- er... Happy Pinches -- of any kind. In fact, she got one at her annual doctor visit just last night, and she seemed to be amused by watching them stick the needle in her arm. We're not the type of parents who are going to use semantics to disguise something unpleasant. It's a shot. It'll sting. She can handle that just fine, thank you.

On the other hand, since I turned 40 this year, I'm quite concerned about my next doctor visit. I'm afraid he's going to tell me I'm due for a visit from the Happy Colon Snake.