Steve Martin in "Little Shop of Horrors"
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
A Dental Minute
Yesterday the dentist shoved some stuff in my mouth and said he needed me to hold still for "just a minute." Then he corrected himself. "Well," he said, "Actually more than a minute. I mean a dental minute. " I nearly choked on my wad of cotton. Rendered mute, I could only sass back to the doctor mentally, sending surly thought waves in response. That's all you can do when you're in the dentist's chair --make your thoughts as loud as possible, even if you're the only one hearing them. Earlier, while he had been drilling, I had thought-yelled, "I'M ALRIGHT! I'M OKAY! I'M ALRIGHT! I'M OKAY! "It was strangely comforting to do that. Now I silently wailed about the length of a dental minute ---as swollen as my anesthesized lip, the seconds stretching out like the sticky caramel I was warned not to eat. Oh to have a New York minute in the dentist's chair. The prodding and poking would just be a fantastic blur. The dentist's intrusions would come and go as rapidly as stations flashing past on the subway line. But a dental minute is the antithesis of all that. And as my dentist cheerfully pointed out--much, much longer than a minute.
Labels: Dental Minute