Going under…



I hope we didn’t cross paths last week. If we did, let me apologize because I know I wasn’t myself. I was probably a little grumpy, a little short with you, and totally had my mind somewhere else. You see, I had a dentist appointment last Friday.

I know, I know. Everybody gets a little nervous when it comes to going to the dentist. But I had a little extra pressure on me- let me explain.

A few years ago, I had a procedure done where the doctors needed to see inside my stomach. In order to do that, they gave me the gas and put me to sleep. For some reason my wife couldn’t take off work that day, so my sister was nice enough to drive me to the doctor’s office and back.

Once I regained my senses, my sister gave me a very serious look and said “I don’t think it would be a good idea to ever let your wife see you like that.” She said that when I was waking up, and the medicine still had a hold on me, I was “very friendly” with every nurse I could find.

No, I take that back- that’s not what she said at all. She told me that I hit on every female that got close enough to listen to me. And not in that cute, shy, eyelash-batting way, either. She said I was the obnoxious drunk guy at the bar that makes women’s skin crawl as they reach for their can of mace.

Now, you folks know that I’m not like that. For one thing, I’m not the flirty kind of guy to begin with. For another, my wife and all her cronies know everything that happens in this town and the surrounding towns, so I could never get away with it. And don’t even get me started on the whole Facebook networking tattle-tale thing…

Okay, so fast-forward to last week when I found out that a local anesthesia wasn’t going to do the trick- I had to go all the way under again. The first thing I do is see if my sister is available. “Don’t be silly,” my wife said. “I will take you myself.” That forced me to tell her that evidently anesthesia turns me into a broke, pudgier version of Tiger Woods.

And sure enough, when we get to the dentist’s office every girl in there was good looking. And they were all wearing those doctor smocks. Which leads me to confess something here: You know how all women like a man in uniform? Cops, firemen, UPS, etc? Well, for some reason that’s how I am with women in smocks, or scrubs, or whatever you call them. Yes, I know that’s weird. And don’t ask me why, because I know they aren’t exactly form-fitting. Maybe it’s the whole “care-giver” thing that I didn’t get enough of when I was a kid. Who knows? The point is, I like them. And the fact that every lady in the office was wearing them made me even more nervous. I kept telling myself “Don’t say a word. Don’t say a word. Don’t say a word.”

“Relax, I’ve seen you when you sleep and it’s not a pretty sight,” said my wife. “Trust me, you can flirt all you want. My money says they still send you home with me.”

And she was right. As it turns out, I behaved myself like a gentleman the whole time.

Oh, don’t you worry though. The anesthesia still made me nutty as a Snicker’s bar, and my wife was nice enough to video the evidence for everyone. I’m absolutely sure that some of it will be posted somewhere at some point, but we are currently negotiating the editing process.

You see? I wouldn’t have had to worry about that if my sister had just driven me.