Dentist to the Stars?
So I needed that root canal after all – tooth started hurting Friday night, off and on, okay with ibuprofen but I’m not keen on being continually medicated or continually subject to stabs of pain if I gasp or swallow incorrectly. Pricey, but I was able to postpone getting a crown, hoorah! All in all, the last two weeks of dental work are still the most valuable thing I own (if and only if they are granted an amount of thingness superior to the sort of thingness possessed by savings accounts and college educations, but the ontological questions raised by labor theories of value are best left to experts, I say) but they’re not more valuable than the next two things put together. And so I calm my wallet.
I don’t understand the fuss about root canals. They’re long and dreadfully dull, but don’t involve nearly so much squealy drilling as filling cavities. Plus, the array of color-coded needles is appealingly reminiscent of a crayon box. While I had my jaw drilled and stuffed, I learned two (2) things:
- My dentist is also the dentist for an adult film producer, who continually refers his “girls”. It’s apparently common practice for the actresses to visit the dentist wearing see-through things and too much porny makeup, to the consternation of the more conservative patients in the waiting room. No starlets around when I was there, though, just teenagers of varying surliness.
- Although your textbook standard bicuspid has just one root canal, mine has two. Take that, you pathetic losers of evolution’s supernumerary tooth-root competition! I wonder if the X-rays have activated the second canal’s hidden superpowers yet.