Put Your Butt In The Hand, In The Hand, You Sons And Daughters

Wednesday night around 10:30, I remembered that The Pony had a dental appointment the next morning at 10:00. That's what happens when you schedule six months ahead. And the day after a holiday.

The Pony had to get up early (for summer) to make sure his goat-tending duties were completed. He lets them out of the pen to roam around the grounds for an hour while he plugs in his laptop on the front porch. The goats don't really need minding. They don't stray off the Mansion property. But they love a good lilac limb, so The Pony's job is to shoo them away.

The Pony was not exactly chomping at the bit to have his mouth examined. He's only had one cavity in his entire life, and that was on a baby tooth that fell out the next week. The #1 son, however, who brushes rings around The Pony, almost always needs a filling. Funny how that works out.

I imagine a few folks forgot their appointments. Because there was only one person in the waiting room when we arrived. The Pony was called back within five minutes. That office opens at 7:00 a.m. So they were either running way ahead of schedule, or they had no-shows. I'd tried to reschedule the #1 son's check-up earlier in the morning, since he was leaving at 10:00 to go to that concert. However, the girl said the earliest she could work him in was July 16. You can't tell me that they were booked up from 7:00 - 9:00 a.m. that day. I smell a conspiracy.

I also smelled hot tooth enamel and drill water. I hate that. The minute you walk in, you are reminded of what really goes on in those torture chambers in the inner sanctum. At least the office was cool, since the outside temp had already climbed to 102.

While The Pony got a cleaning and a fluoride treatment, I read a magazine that I brought along, and tried to tune out the loop video playing about bright smiles. The only thing worse that sitting there looking inside strangers' mouths on a TV was looking at strangers' toes in the waiting room. Yeah. A dude came in with flip-flops. I hate feet. The Pony was also wearing flip-flops, but I can kind of tolerate his because he's family. When we left, that other dude was laid back in an exam room with his flip-flops flopping half off his feet. Close the door, people! Nobody wants to see that! Ugh! I don't know how pedicure-givers can live with themselves.

An odd thing about the dentist's waiting room is the furniture. Most of it is normal, upholstered chairs with wooden arms. Then there's one wooden straight-backed chair like a refugee from somebody's dining room table. And a brown pleather overstuffed chair that just screams, "Sit in me, and you'll never be seen again!" It's like the quicksand of waiting room furniture. But the oddest parts of the office ensemble are two hard plastic chairs shaped like hands. You got it. Large palms that cradle the sitter's butt, with thick fingers to lean back on. I imagine they're for the kids, but they are the size of adult chairs. I could sit on one if I so desired. Which I do not. Because just the thought of it is quite pervy. Putting your butt on a giant hand that rises from the floor on a wrist base. One is black, one is red. I used to encourage the boys to sit there, but they wanted no part of it. I think one time The Pony had to sit in a palm, because the rest of the chairs were taken. He was not happy.

No cavities this trip. The worst part, according to The Pony, was that he needed to wait thirty minutes before eating or drinking.