I Gnant Galk Gnow.

I had my dentist appointment yesterday, and that's always a good time.  I was already in a great mood, because I woke up and learned that my damned Christmas lights had been blown off the highest gutter of the house overnight.

Someday the police are going to knock on my door after I throw one of my Christmas light-related fits ("Uh, sir, we received a report that someone at this address was dancing around the yard, screaming 'fa la la la la' while throwing lights and plastic clips all over the place.").

So anyway, I got to my dentist appointment, full of Christmas Cheer, and God bless our dental hygienist lady, but why does she ask me all of these open ended questions while she has my mouth pried open and she's poking me with that pointy metal thing?

That really drives me a little bonkers.  She's a really, really nice lady, don't get me wrong, but surely she is aware of the fact that her fist is half way down my throat, and it would be pretty hard for me to carry on a whole lot of a conversation.  Yet she asks me questions like, "What do you think about this... what do you think about that...?"

So I can either ignore her, which seems like it would be rude, or I can attempt to come up with an answer, either using sign language or a series of word-like grunts.  I used a combination of these techniques today, and I have no idea if she understood anything I was trying to communicate to her.

It would be cool if they'd give people little keyboards to hold on their laps so they could type in an answer to whatever small talk we're trying to have.  This would also solve the problem of what I should be doing with my hands during my appointments.  I usually clinch them together hard enough that I could probably squish coal into diamonds.

So now my teeth feel nice and squeaky clean, and I'm able to communicate again.  But guess what?  I have to go back in a couple weeks.  Wanna know why?  Because I brush my teeth too well.  Yep... I have managed to brush my teeth to the point where I've eroded some of the enamel, so they have to paint some pretend enamel back onto my mouth for me.

We live in a very strange world.