You’re too kind. No, really.

I had the dentist appointment yesterday.  It really wasn’t so bad.  I went to bed Wednesday night realizing once again that my two week flossing to good oral health (or at least good enough oral health to dupe the hygienist into thinking I was a semi-regular flosser) plan was completely forgotten yet again.  So Thursday morning there I was brushing, flossing, swishing, rinsing and repeating like a madwoman, but it worked out OK.  They really didn’t chew me out much.  In fact, my hygienist was so complimentary of the cleanliness of my teeth, I was beginning to think I’d gotten away with the whole thing.   But then the dentist came in and did that little gum measuring thing with the pokey metal prodder thingy and my gums bled some, and then she came right out and asked if I flossed every day.  “Not every day,” I said.  Plus, wouldn’t you expect anyone’s gums to bleed if you shoved a pokey metal prodder thingy in as far as it would go?  I personally would be worried if they didn’t bleed.  It would seem almost inhuman, right?  Like a zombie or something?

So it wasn’t really a bad experience.  Like I said, my hygienist was very complimentary.  Almost too complimentary.  When she first brought me back she apologized profusely for the long wait I had.  It was about 40 minutes, so an apology was definitely in order and appreciated, but she only had to say it once and move on.  She went on and on about how sorry she was that I had to wait–they had several emergency patients in that morning who happened to be flying somewhere later that day and you can’t let them leave the office and go take a flight somewhere with tooth or mouth pain because then that tooth or infected area or whatever might explode mid-flight–it wasn’t usually like this (actually, it totally is), but thank you so much for your patience.

After she finishes apologizing, I plop myself down in the chair and she asks me how to say my name.  I tell her (Bie-thuh-powndz) and she says, “Oh wow, that is such a cool name.  Beautiful!  It sounds French or something.  Is it French?”  It’s not French.  “Wow, I’ve never heard of that before.  So pretty.”  I thank her.  My name is unusual, so it’s kind of cool to have people compliment it.  Not everyone does.  Sometimes they just say, “That’s un-u-sual”, which really means “weird”.

She makes some little notes in my chart and says, “How old are you?”

“Thirty-four.”  Isn’t it in my chart?  Is this a test?

“No way!  You can’t be.  I totally would have guessed you were in your twenties.  What kind of moisturizer do you use?”

“Just the cheap stuff from Target.”

“Well, I’m going to have to pick up some of that.  You look great!”

She starts putting on my little bib and then stops and stares at my hair.  “That’s a great foil!  Who does your hair?” 

“My sister.” 

“Where does she work?” 

“She just works out of her garage.” 

“Well, she did a great job.  I love the color.  So pretty.” 

I thank her and think she’s sweet to have noticed and said something.  That’s cool.  So she finishes putting on my bib and then gets out all her little instruments.  While she’s arranging her tray she says, “Cute shoes!”   I thank her again and tell her they’re very comfortable. 

“I have a Steve Madden pair a lot like them.  I’ve had them for like seven years, but I swear to G that they’re still like my favorite pair.”

“Oh, yeah, uh these are Skechers, I think.”

“Skechers makes great shoes.”

OK, she likes my shoes.  Cool.  So she starts in on the polishing, and while she’s got the little spinning polishing thing in my mouth on one side and the little spit sucker vacuumy thing on the other says, “Wow, there’s really not much to clean her.”  Cool.  I’ve pulled it off. 

“And your teeth are a great color.  Do you drink coffee?”

“Uh-uh.”  Why do they always ask you questions when you’re obviously incapable of responding?

“Tea?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Red wine?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Anything with caffiene?”

“Uh-uh.”

“That’s so great.  Caffiene is really bad for you.  Good for you! And your teeth have like no staining at all.  You’re taking awesome care of them.”

Snort.  If she only knew.

So she goes to rinse off the polishing gunk with the little water squirter thingy and accidentally gets some overspray on my face.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.  Here let me just clean that up for you a bit.  At least I’m not rubbing off your makeup.  You must not be wearing any.”

“Actually, I have makeup on.”

“Well, it can’t be much.  You’re so pretty, you don’t even need to wear make up.”

Ohhh-kay, lady.  This is starting to get a little weird.  Are we almost done yet?

After she gets me all cleaned up, she readjusts my bib–”We don’t want to get anything on your pretty sweater”–and starts in on the flossing.  She finishes the bottom teeth and starts in on the top. 

“Oh, you’re just like me, you’ve got that gap.  You know what they say about that, don’t you?”

I have no idea, but I’m sure you’ll tell me.

“It’s a sign of intelligence.  And true beauty.”

All right.  Can we just get this over with?

The dentist comes in and does that ouchy gum measuring thing and then after the whole flossing discussion and some other stuff I won’t bore you with, I’m ready to go. I get up out of the chair and my sweet hygienist says again, “Look at her foil.  Isn’t it a great foil?”  “Oh yeah,” says the dentist.

Yeah, okay, whatever.  I’m out of here.

“See you in six months!”

Uh-huh.

OK, don’t get me wrong.  I appreciate a compliment as much as the next gal, but when people go kind of overboard like that, don’t you start to question their sincerity?  I think this is an instance where less is more.  Just swoop in, drop off the kind word or two and then move along.  Gushing just smacks of phoniness or even pity.  But then maybe I’m just a cynical ingrate incapable of graciously accepting a compliment.