Today I thought I'd share some of the more humorous moments from XBoy's introduction of his face to the metal gym bleachers. The first thing on my agenda was to clarify what had actually happened. I had been told that he ran the scooter into the bleachers. Of course, I immediately thought of this kind of scooter:
Sure, I wondered what the heck they were doing with a scooter like this in a gym, but hell, as long as it wasn't the motorized scooter that belonged to the neighbor, I hardly gave it a thought.
Then I found out it was THIS kind of scooter:
Ok, I'm sorry since this is wrong on so many levels, but this was the closest image of the kind of scooter he was on (which should sound off warning bells in your head already), but if you are over the age of 20 and you had to participate in P.E. during elementary school, then you will know exactly of what kind of scooter I refer to. Come on now, think back 15, 20, 25 years ago. Wooden gym floors, jump ropes and red or blue vinyl covered plywood boards with four non-steerable wheels bolted to them. The kind that you would kneel on and no matter how many fucking times you ran over your own damn fingers from pushing yourself around (they didn't come with those nifty hand "shoes"), you would be the first to shove that wussy kid out of the way to get the first one out of storage the next time around.
If you have no idea of what I'm talking about, then you have not lived.
I don't know why it makes any difference since I'm sure one's face could just as easily be plowed into a solid vertical object with one kind of scooter as is the next.
As for the dental clinic, there was one caveat: I finally got to meet the new dentist. The young, hot, male dentist. However, his hotness and youngness did only one thing for me and that was to remind me that not only am I now of cougar qualifications, I know that I could never have Young, Hot, Male Dentist ever be my dentist. Is there anything less attractive than the inside of someone's mouth? All that saliva and teeth and tongue bumps and weird tissue tags and uvulas? Yuck. So I'm pretty sure I'll just maintain an aura of mystery and keep my mouth shut.
Coincidently, I had been meaning to blog about XBoy's teeth for some time now, ever since he lost his first two teeth some time ago. A chance for me to lament about his po' widdle bitty teef. I'm over that.
Instead, it just now reminds me of my own traumatic dental experiences.
First of all, no one I've met yet enjoys hearing about my own family's tradition in ridding one of us of a perfectly good loose tooth. You may have all had the strings and taffy and jaw breakers and whatnot to speed the actual tooth-pulling. You then, are a puss. You know what we had? We had a pair of pliers and if we were lucky, a paper towel. Actually, Dad had the pliers and Mom would try to cushion our tooth (or godalmightyforbid – teeth) from the pliers with the strategically folded paper towel. Dad would sit on our chest. Mom would hold our heads. Dad would take the pliers from the ever present location, a pliers holder on his belt, the same one he probably pulled a tick from the dog's ear not five minutes before, and wrap it around the loose tooth.
Oh, yes. He did.
We did also see a dentist once a year. Since my teeth have never been my best asset, the visits almost always included a magic carpet ride.
What? You don't know what a magic carpet ride is?
It's where they took the nasal mask and pumped nitrous oxide through it and then I would inhale deeply through my nose until I was left senseless, except for the absolute assuredly I had that I was flying about the tiny exam room on a magic carpet. I hated the dentist, but I really, really miss those precious moments. Almost enough to have snagged the nasal mask from XBoy's face for a hit. Unfortunately, the nurse with her fake tan and over-permed hair never left our sides.
And lastly, speaking of the nurse: I swear dental professionals must take a class in understanding the unique language of patients who are suffering through all kinds of oral injustices, whether it's cotton swabs, suction, dental dams, or like my son, refused to swallow the saliva for fear it was blood and preferred to drool the excess out.
I say this because prior to the actual extraction, XBoy is trying desperately to tell both Mr. DD and myself something. We just couldn't understand him. Instead we nodded and smiled as if we understood completely. After all was said and done, and he was hopped up on laughing gas and local anesthetic he was showing off his Iron Man sunglasses from Burger King to the nurse. Except he said, "Rar ga ees gashes fer Urgha Ig. Ay awr Arn Ma rungashes." And the nurse? She says, "You got those glasses from Burger King? And they're Iron Man sunglasses? That's so cool!"
I could have understood Swahili better than that marble-mouthed discussion.
I've also learned from this experience that just about everyone has their own horror story regarding a dental procedure. Feel free to share, because if you are like me, this stirred up all kinds of memories from the past (cue Wayne's World flashback sound – doo-dit-do, doo-dit-do, doo-dit-do – and waving hands). I'm pretty sure this one will be a story for XBoy to regale to his kids someday as well.
Punch Drunk 