Before I begin what I’m sure is a very interesting post, I would like to say a hearty hello to all the people from my local congregation. Turns out an e-mail was sent out regarding a need in my neighborhood and a link to my blog was included. So, hello there. Thank you for being Jesus in our community and please promise me eye contact on Sunday morning.
On to the post…
I was going to tell you all about Eric’s root canal today. Not really the root canal, but the dentist. I was going to tell you that if you need a dentist/orthodontist in this area, you should totally go and see our guy.
I was going to tell you that good dental work is not cheap anywhere, but this guy is among the most reasonable and skilled. He quotes more than one fair price with different levels of treatment options. He gives great dental advice.
And I was going to tell you all about him. But today he gave Eric a root canal and he capped it off by doing me wrong.
I guess Eric has “impressive” root structure and he required an especially rigorous root canal. Eric soldiered on. High on laughing gas and numbing shots. This is not where the dentist did me wrong.
The slight against me came when the dentist warned Eric that he had experienced dental trauma and needed to take it easy. Take it easy I can take, but trauma? Did he have to give Eric that word? It’s all I have heard ever since.
“I’m sorry, Baby. I got the trauma.”
I have seen Eric go to work day after day with what I am certain was undiagnosed pneumonia. I have seen him sit exhausted on our front stoop after twelve hours of working in the hot sun with the flu. This man does not know stop signs.
Until today. When he was “dentally traumatized”.
Go ahead and ask me and I’ll still tell you that we have the best dentist ever. If I have any complaints at all, it is simply word choice. Maybe if he had said dentally “startled”, I wouldn’t be off to puree a chocolate chip cookie.
*edit
Of course I’m being sarcastic. I’m not pureeing any cookies.
i wondered why you gave me such a look yesterday when you went to give him his meds.
did you notice your little icon at the top of the page says “ew”?
Haha! This is so funny! I totally identify! My husband has (I am convinced) broken his foot before and would not go get x-rays! But when he gets a cold, he can barely lift the spoon full of chicken soup to his mouth. I guess even grown men need some mama-style lovin’ every now and then.
That’s right, Sarah. They call me Eww over at WebEx Media. It’s a pet name.
Aren’t they precious, Brandy?
Traumatized or not, cookies don’t last long enough in this house to have the chance to be pureed.
poor, poor Eric.
I gerr the dentist
Men are great at so many things…and then they learn vocabulary.
Poor Eric I hope he gets over his trauma soon. And then takes his beautiful caring wife out for a very nice dinner. That would give Post Tramatic Stress a whole new meaning.
Hey Amy,
Love your blog…you are too funny!! Thought I would leave a comment instead of “lurking”.
Leslie-Fellow church member and blog addict.
Thank you, Leslie. Now, wear your name tag on Sunday.
Just keep his britches on, that’s all I ask.
The words “dental trauma” make me want to curl up in the fetal position. I feel equally bad for both of you.
Oh my poor baby! I was praying that the ‘surgery’ would go well yesterday. Sorry he had to get ‘his dad’s teeth’! Although I’m the one that has had 4 root canals! I understand DENTAL TRAUMA – and its not really that bad – really. Love you all!
Boys are babies.
I’m late to the pity party but I do hope he feels better.
And I am so gonna use that line from now on and for everything – “I’m sorry, Baby. I got the trauma.”
I think I am going to stick with the vapors. “I’m sorry, Darling. I have the vapors.” And then I’ll press the back of my hand to my forehead and swoon.