My morning at the dentist's office.

Tam, my dental hygienist, was really sticking it to my upper left quadrant. Her sharp metal devices were plunging (seemingly) well under the gum line. It took my mind off my new concern that, while Tam said she loved my own daughter's name, she had just revealed that she had named her daughter "Brin" without any coercion. That's not short for anything; just "Brin."

So she finally lets up long enough to ask me to rinse, and I say to her, "So I guess I have some work to do on that upper side?"

She turns back to me from the Tray of Evil Equipment, looking confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, that last bit hurt on this side, so I figure I could have done a better job up there. Right?"

"Oh, that!" she says. "No, no. I was just looking for something to do. Okay -- open again, please?"

***

Final check from the dentist: "Good, healthy teeth!" He pats my cheek.

"You know the only reason I have such good checkups is because of my deep-seeded fear of your reprisal if I ever came in with bad teeth, right?"

The dentist laughs.

"No, seriously," I press on. "If I was the last person on earth, do you really think I'd ever floss?" He chuckles again, wishes me a happy new year, and walks out to check on more deserving patients. But I think he looked a little shook up, like maybe his world wasn't as safe as he had thought it was when he woke up this morning.

Next time, I put into motion my plan to subtly turn the dentist and hygienist against each other. July 8th can't come soon enough.