I Am Irrationally Irked at Dental Hygienists

I went to the dentist today. 

I feel like I should preface what I'm about to say with the fact that my teeth are fantastic. I'm not being vain. I'm just reiterating what my dentist tells me every six months. So this isn't stemming from the frustration of getting my teeth dissed in a repressed memory from my childhood or a weird irrational fear of people touching my teeth. It's just annoying. Plain and simple.

You've been there. I know you have.

You're sitting in the chair, awkwardly tilted back so that you're not quite lying down, but you're also not sitting comfortably. Your dental hygienist rolls up next to you in her chair. She is a friendly woman. Somehow, even though you only see her twice a year, she remembers strange facts about your life, she talks about your family more than you do, and you're pretty sure she may have just referenced an inside joke that the two of you shared six months ago. Pretty sure, but not really sure, because even though her memory is spouting facts about you at the pace John Nash doodled on foggy windows, you are having trouble remembering if she even has kids. Did you talk about living in Arizona with her? Or was that with your bank teller? Who can keep these things straight?

At this point, one of two things can happen:

Option 1: She has her tools in hand, is about to start cleaning your teeth, but then SHAZAM! instead asks you a question, her tools still poised precariously over your mouth. You answer her normally, but you begin to realize that she doesn't look too pleased by your answer. Assuming you're not discussing how great sardines taste with a blueberry smoothie, and how you just had that power pack of a snack on your way over there, one could assume that she is displeased not by what you are saying, but by the very fact that you are saying it. Her whole demeanor would suggest that in her head, she is wondering why you are speaking instead of opening your mouth and letting her do her job.

OR

Option 2: She begins cleaning your teeth. While her hands and tools of dental joy are still in your mouth, she asks you a question about your life. 

Observe:

           "So how is Virginia?"

           "gurglegurglegrrrrrrrrrgurgle."

            What she thought I said: "It's great!"

            What I actually said: "It's great!"

            "What are you studying again?"

            "gurglegurgleeeeerernngdfaddfdgurgledouiurewbbgurgle."

            What she thought I said: "I'm double majoring in English and Religious Studies."

            What I actually said: "Can you really understand what people say when you ask them

             questions in this manner?"

            "Are you enjoying that?"

            "guuuuuurglelaaaaaagurrrrrrrrrrrrrrgle."

             What she thought I said: "I absolutely love it!"

             What I actually said: "Seriously. I could start rapping, and you would have no idea."

            "Is it a difficult program?"

            "gurglagurglagurglaaaaalalalalalagurgleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee."

             What she thought I said: "Well madam, it is actually not too shabby. Everything is

             quite interesting, so that makes it easier since I want to actually learn the material."

             What I actually said: "Luda! When I was 13, I had my first love. There was nobody

             that compared to my baby..."

In my lengthy musings on the dental industry with friends, acquaintances, and strangers, Option 2 seems to happen more often. 

But really, either way, I'm irked.

Add some sass to your cavity-free class,

Jenna