This is my sad-face soup.
My parents were generous enough to pay for me to get my teeth cleaned. I hadn’t been to the dentist since I lost my insurance upon graduating from college, two years ago. So, it had been a while. I was so thankful to be going before heading off to New York, and the dentist office was kind enough to squeeze me in. My friend/lead at work, Kristin, also schemed a fake tooth ache, so that my boss wouldn’t give me an occurrence my last week at work.
The dental hygienist asked me if I flossed. I politely and honestly answered that no, I do not. She lectured me, as I believe they must be taught in their dental hygienist program, that flossing is the only way to insure healthy gums. She proceeded to put me through some excruciating pain. I winced, moaned, even got a couple little tears in my eyes. I looked up at her and realized this woman must hate me and my non-flossing ways to inflict so much pain upon me. When she was finished though, she actually apologized, and I realized I was over-reacting. “I’m so sorry for that, but you took it like a woman,” she told me, and I instantly forgave her.
How does this relate to my sad-face soup? All I could eat for the next day or so was soup, which is so much better with a splash of Cholula added on top. Working at a hospital, surrounded by pain, sickness, and death, I had to find something to entertain myself with.
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