It's the Chair for You Missy, Part Deux...
My dentist is really a nice guy...really... He doesn't let you hurt and if you do he stops and gives you more nonhurtystuff. So I decide that finishing up with the removal of the last three wisdom teeth was a good idea. No more pussy-footing around, let's just get the thing over and done and none of that woozy making anesthetic stuff please. I'm still amazed at the amount of dental apparatus they can stuff into a mouth, retractors, mirrors, picks, a wicked looking plier thing, suture, hemostat and all (well it felt like all) at the same time. And this is what kills me, they ask you questions. Them: "How are you doing?" Me: "murfle" [1]. Them: "Let us know if you need anything." Me: "murfle" [2]. Them: "How are you feeling?" Me: "murfle" [3]. As a parting gift, they give me a 'script for percocet. Now how can I walk up to the pharmacist and get this filled. Pharmacist: "Date of birth." Me: "murfle" [4]. Pharmacist: "What?" Me "murfle" [5]. So I thought it was a good idea to let the stuff wear off so I could talk. Bad idea. Now the conservation could go like this.. Pharmacist: "Date of birth." Me: "owie." Pharmacist: "What?" Me "owie, owie, owie." Thank goodness HM is a linguist. Memo: When changing the gauze dressing, make sure you are tugging on the gauze and not your numb tongue. It will make the process go smoother.[1] My lip fell to the floor, please do not step on it.[2] Please pith me like a frog.[3] Like I was in the sledge hammer fighting olympics.[4] Why yes kind lady, here is the date of my hatching.[5] Just give me my ticket to ride the happy train.