Dooming Denistry

I hate going to the dentist, and I know that it hates me.  I am not one of those people who have mouths that are exclaimed over due to their perfect alignment, sparkling shine, and lack of cavities.  In fact, I could brush eight times a day and floss five, and there would still be cavities to be found when I sat down in the chair of doom.  It seems that my teeth are destined to hold unto all the sugar that it comes in contact with, immediately turning it into plaque that will eat away at my teeth.

This year there is something else that makes me dread going to the dentist...wisdom teeth.  The dentist knows they're there and needs to come out and my ability to postpone it is running out.  I can picture how it will happen: a long hallway leading to a white plastic chair.  A man with a white lab coat will come in a huge needle in hand.  My stomach will drop, hands clam up, and mouth go dry.  And then...ugh...i can't picture it past there.  I'll faint right here at my computer.

So when the time comes I can hope that they will completely knock me out with string drugs and I won't feel a thing...i hope.