I mentioned to Jon, my former virtual landlord, that I’d been to the dentist this morning for a scaling. Somehow this went straight to the hidden blogging streak he’s been concealing for the last few years:
Every three months? Wow — that’s aggressive. You’re showing that plaque who’s boss, I guess.
[We] picked up a set of powered toothbrushes — I think they might be the Arm and Hammer brand — and we’ve been using them for several months now. I think the powered brush has made a noticeable difference in icky build-up and in the time it takes the dental assistant to pry said ick from my stumps.
Previously, the inside surface of the lower stumps would become noticeably grainy as the dental appointment approached, and that’s the area in which the most scaling work is usually done. You can really hear it when the ultrasonic pointy-ouch machine digs in to the ick — the pitch of the tool changes from that of stepped-on marmot to roto-tilled kitten.
The brush seems to be able to reduce all that — I don’t notice an accumulation of crud on the bottom teef, and the scaling at the last appointment went very quickly. Which was a bit of a disappointment, really, as it reduced my face time with the dental assistant’s lovely bosom. Oh, yes — there is a trade-off for everything. A normal scaling may mean having to hold your mouth open uncomfortably wide whilst a machine making a sound like a flayed kitten dipped in hot oil digs around your gums, spewing forth a geyser of spit and blood and pus and plaque and tissue and soul which spatters all over your shirt and pants and shoes and the wall opposite whilst your fingernails splinter as you shred the arms of the chair with a grip that would turn coal to cubic zirconia, but all is forgotten as the young dental assistant nestles your head in her firm yet alluringly soft and ever-so-subtly yielding breasts. You know what? I can feel the plaque hardening on my teeth even now, just thinking about my next cleaning.
I think I blew it last time, though, when she paused in the ultrasonic inquisition to ask if I was OK. “Oh god, yes”, I replied. “More! More!”
But there was to be no more. We were done.
