I hate dentists. Yes I know, most people either hate or fear dentists but I mean, I REALLY hate them. When I was a kid, I grew up in an area where our water wasn't so great and apparently it had the effect of making it really easy for us to get cavities. I took good care of my teeth but no amount of brushing and flossing seemed to prevent them. On top of that, for some weirdly genetically freakish reason I had two sets of baby teeth before my adult teeth came in. Not at the same time, that would be beyond creepy. I'm not a shark. They came in, one set after another. I'm just saying; I've had more teeth than your average human and that meant more trips to the dentist.

So, back to my original premise; I hate dentists. I went into a dentist's office here in Santa Barbara a few days ago to finally have some work done that I've been putting off for a while. After years of great dental hygiene and a generous helping of First World fluoride in the water, my teeth are actually pretty great now. I'm lucky that they've always been straight and I've never needed braces or anything. It's just those darn cavities from childhood that are an issue. All of those old fillings are getting on a bit in years and need to be replaced.

Anyhow, I go in and meet this new dentist and he tells me that on top of fixing an old crown, I need a lot more work done. A LOT. We're talking 6 figures worth of work. Errr, what? I'm wondering if he's assumed that I have some kind of incredibly lucrative dental insurance policy (I don't) or if I've accidentally ticked the 'wealthy heiress' box on my intake forms.

Many thoughts passed through my mind at that time - All of the dental work I've had in my entire life put together doesn't add up to that amount! I'm not looking to have diamonds implanted into my teeth, you asshole! How on earth do people afford dental care in this country? Are you really playing Guns N Roses instead of mood music in the dental surgery?!

Thankfully (for him) his nurse had already spotted the signs of panic on me (wide-open staring eyes, white knuckles gripping the arm of the chair) and gave me some sort of sedative to calm me down. Between whatever was in that little pill and the pain medication he prescribed after my surprise root canal (weeeeeeeee! Fun!) I spent the next few days in a haze of pharmaceutical bliss.

Sadly, I've come out of my warm, fuzzy vicodin cocoon and all I'm left with is a sore jaw and the lingering feeling that I've been had (insert roofie joke here.)