It’s always the day you are having a bad hair day and wearing a baseball cap that someone offers to take you out for lunch.
It’s the day you have a humongous zit on your nose that someone wants to take your picture for the newspaper.
It’s the moment after you dribbled spaghetti sauce on your blouse that you are called upon to impress someone with your brilliance.
And, it never fails; it’s just after the dentist has you all geared up for a root canal that you have to use the bathroom.
In my defense, the dentist had a picture of a waterfall tacked to his ceiling! That’s not playing fair!
At first I thought it was a beautiful picture. It was really nice of the dentist to give his patients something to focus on other than the needle he was pushing into their gums.
Rather than focusing on that metal clamp around my teeth, I imagined smelling the wet moss in the picture.
When he draped a rubber washcloth over my face, I imagined the mist of fresh water on my face.
When he tacked up a clothesline over my mouth, I imagined the warm water running over my… uh, oh…
I really tried to ignore it, but my body was pretty insistent.
The dentist was in his “drill, fill and bill” zone with his files and pokers, and he didn’t notice that my Zen had been compromised. I tried to look anywhere but the waterfall, but there are not too many options when you are flat on your back.
I had a rubber block in my mouth similar to that which they place under 747’s to keep them from rolling. I had the rubber screen/clothesline contraption that looked like a blue black hole taking up the real estate on my face. An electronic meter was hanging from the rim of my mouth. How was I going to get to the bathroom? They must have some procedure for this sort of thing.
Finally I uttered, “Aye gaya hee!” which is “I gotta pee,” in Rubberdam, which is near Amsterdam, I think. Through a series of grunting and some pretty creative sign language, the dentist understood what I needed.
Although I was in panic mode, the dentist did not seem fazed at all by the abrupt change in plans. Of course, this probably happens a lot in his waterfall cubicle.
He unhooked the electronic meter and adjusted the clothesline which was holding the rubber washcloth, so that if I bent over slightly, I could peer over the edge of the structure to see where I was going. Then he told me where the ladies room was. Not surprisingly, it was not, as I had hoped, just around the corner.
Immediately after I stood up, drool started running down my chin. I traversed the labyrinth of halls holding my paper bib to my chin to catch the runoff. The people in the halls stared at me with a mixture of horror and humor. In my mind I damned them all to perdition, but to be fair, I probably looked like a cross between the Hunchback of Notre Dame and a sleestak.
Finding the restroom, I wasted no time blockading myself in a stall before anyone else saw me. As I was sitting, in the position, drool dribbled into my underwear. Grabbing a wad of tissue, I was suddenly unsure of where it was needed the most.
Back in the dentist chair I closed my eyes and dreamed of anything un-water-ish. I made a vow to bring a poster of the Sahara Desert the next time I was scheduled for a root canal.
Laura Snyder is a nationally syndicated columnist, author & speaker. You can reach Laura at firstname.lastname@example.org Or visit her website www.lauraonlife.com for more info.
Laura is a syndicated columnist, author, & speaker. You can reach Laura at email@example.com Or visit her website <a
for more info.