I came to grips with reality at about six and realized that I was, in fact, not a long and rusty piece of rebar, at which point I just sat in bed staring at the ceiling and reflecting on how out of control my life has begun to spin as of late. I managed to fall back asleep at about seven, but I then had to wake up at eight to go to the dentist and get a cavity filled. You know, with all the drills and clamps and needles and picks and pastes and suction tubes and radiation emitters. But you know what the worst part was? Katy Perry was playing on the radio.
I've never had the aversion to the dentist that the majority of people seem to have. I am oddly okay with a man who I hardly know inserting mechanical grinding implements into my open maw and gnashing away at my bone. A lot of people hate the sensation of the drill or the pick. A lot of people hate the sensation of powerlessness and hate feeling defenseless. A lot of people feel like it's an invasion of privacy. But belive me, once you have to have a rectal exam (or, even worse, a flexible stigmoid endoscopy), going to the dentist seems as private and comfortable as examining the contents of a safety deposit box inside of a sealed bank vault.
I dunno. I just don't have a problem with the dentist. I never have. Even as a kid I was okay with it. Of course, as a kid, going to the dentist meant that I got to play Sega Genesis in the waiting room. I was not allowed to have game consoles until the N64, so playing the Genesis at the dentist's office was like magic to me growing up. Now that I am older and I understand how game systems operate, video games have lost most of their magical properties. But walking through those glass doors and hearing music from Sonic the Hedgehog blaring from the recesses of my pediatric dentist's office is a memory that I will cherish for years to come.