Thursday, January 17, 2013

I Used a Trader Joe's Shopping Bag as a Purse Today

I just thought you all should know that.

Wait, you want to know why I ventured out in upper-middle-class hobo drag?  'Cause I needed to tote my wallet, phone, iPad (don't judge) with me on an errand.  These things live in my laptop bag during the work week.  But, I didn't want to drag my laptop bag around with me, so I went with grocery chic.

Why was I so unprepared?  Because today was an awesome example of Way Planning Ahead Me vs. Last-Minute Me.  I scheduled my annual dentist appointment a year ago.  I didn't jot this down anywhere.  If I did, it was written on something ephemeral, like condensation on the inside of my car.  So, minus ten points for me.

They called yesterday to confirm. But, I left my cell on silent and didn't get the message 'til this morning, when it was too late to cancel. It's like that recurring nightmare when I haven't gone to a class all semester, and am too late to withdraw.  I HAVE TO TAKE THE EXAM AND I WILL PROBABLY FAIL.

In this case, though, I just haven't been flossing as much as I should.  And I had coffee breath.

Sorry, Dr. H!

I have this weird thing about dental and eye exams.  I know that they are not graded, nor are they pass/fail.  But I still want to pass, and pass with FLYING COLORS.  I want an A, a check plus, a sticker on my forehead.  I want my doctors to be shocked and awed by how well I perform on these exams. Is it any wonder I was the valedictorian of my high school? (Which only matters to me, I'm sure.  Well, me and the salutatorian.  Hi Julie!)

Because of my accursed gene pool, though, 'passing' an eye exam means that I correctly identified the giant 'E' at the top of the eye chart and did not mistake it for a picture of a bunny.  Passing the dental exam means that my teeth didn't crumble like blue cheese when my dentist pokes them with the poky thing.

Today's results?  I have a full-term cavity in one of my upper molars (12-D, to be exact), and a gestating cavity on the other side. Cavities are nothing new to me. If you are a devoted reader of this blog (and who isn't, am I right?), then you know that my teeth are essentially made of shale.  I currently have two crowns, and a giant gap where an implant is supposed to go.  The implant will  happen someday.  That day will likely be two days after my daughter notices the gap and makes fun of me for it.

After the dentist appointment, I took a little drive.  My dentist is in the neighborhood I grew up in.  'Grew up in' is perhaps ambitious.  I lived there 'til I was eleven.  Was I grown up at eleven?  Bookish, but not grown up.  I cruised past the old homestead, via the path I used to walk daily to and from my local Catholic school.  I do this pretty much every time I go to the dentist, and I'm always amazed by how crowded the neighborhood feels.  The houses seemed gigantic and rambling when I was a kid.  And now, it's just a house.

But damn if I don't want to snatch that gorgeous turn-of-the-century stained glass every time I pass by. And stuff it into my giant Trader Joes' bag.

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