an open letter to my dental hygienist

Dear my dental hygienist (sorry, I don’t have anything better to call you),

I’m not going to lie; as it stands, I already really hate coming to the dentist.  Well, I doubt anyone really enjoys the dentist, but for me, it’s like a torture chamber.  I have this thing about metal against my teeth, like a nails-on-chalkboard cringe-y feeling (I avoid biting my forks and spoons for this very reason), so I’m sure you can understand my distaste.  Also, I apparently have really weak enamel (I’m a very diligent brusher, promise!), because every time I come to the dentist, y’all are like, “You have 300,000 cavities!  Guess you might as well move in here for the next few weeks while we freeze your mouth and drill your teeth out of your head!”

Anyway.  I should get to the point of this letter, which has little to do with my predisposed dislike for those in the dental profession. Continue reading “an open letter to my dental hygienist”