the dental trip

I'm one of those rare people who actually enjoys going to the dentist. Probably much like my fascination with the eye doctor, I like that I get to sit in a special chair that has whosits and whatsits attached to it. I mean, a chair with a little gun that squirts water, who wouldn't want one of those? amiright?

So today was my bi-annual cleaning. I have a new hygentist who I didn't really enjoy. She wasn't sensitive to my horrendous gag reflex, and she was left handed. Nothing against my South Paw friends, but having a left handed hygentist was all wrong.

One thing, however, about going to the dentist that really bothers me is this: I am always asked, in an accusatory fashion, whether I am a regular flosser.

Fair question.

The truth is, I'm not a great flosser. I wasn't told early in my dental habit-forming childhood that flossing wasn't just for getting popcorn husks out of your teeth. It actually did stuff. Like getting rid of bacteria, and helping stimulate your bone so your teeth don't fall out. I'm pretty sure if I was explained that at an early age, you would find me flossing more regularly.

But here's the deal. Yeah, my gums are bleeding because I'm not a super flosser, but Left Handed Hygentist Lady, can we please take equal responsibility for the current state of my gums? You are, after all, the one wielding a tool with not one, but two pointy ends, and a whole tray with more friends who look like the one in your hand.

Can we split the blame down the middle, 50/50?

Thanks.