L.R. Burt

*Probably only Alyssa Keysor will get that subject line.  Possibly my brother.

Yesterday I got four fillings in the lower-right quadrant of my mouth. That makes nine with the five I had two weeks ago in the upper-right quadrant, and completes the work on that side of my mouth. I think I’ve got seven to go, on the left side, which will bring me to sixteen.  And you thought I couldn’t do math.

(I’m having extensive dental work done, if you haven’t gotten the idea by now.  Went to the dentist just one year after my last checkup and cleaning, at which nothing was wrong, only to learn that somehow, even though I’m meticulous in the area of personal dental hygiene (e.g., I brush multiple times daily, only drink occasional sodas and eat occasional candy, and floss so well before check-ups that my hygienist believes I do it religiously) I’ve managed to develop gingivitis and significant tooth decay at the gum line.  The culprit?  My saliva’s too acidic. I was born that way, it’s not my diet.  Explains why I got my first cavity when I was about three. The solution?  Besides getting sixteen fillings, the dentist tried to sell me a $100 two-month supply of mouthwash.  Which I didn’t buy, because our insurance is only paying for about half of these fillings, and you can get mouthwash with the same active ingredients at any supermarket.  Also, I’ve been reading about diet and PH, and I can hopefully neutralize the acidity of my saliva somewhat by implementing more high-alkaline fruits and veggies into my diet.  Which I probably ought to be doing anyway.)

Anyway…

Yesterday I got four fillings.  This required two shots of Novocaine, which numbed my teeth, my tongue, my bottom lip, part of my neck, and even my right ear.  So there I was, with a numb face, incapable of making a facial expression that didn’t look like Quasimodo, walking out of the dentist’s office building quickly, with my head down, in case I encountered any people who might look at me and think, “Oh, that poor girl.  She is deformed, and she is ugly,” when a good-looking (I’m not going to lie) twenty-something guy approached the building carrying two small boxes.

Flashing a grin, he pointed at the sidewalk just behind me.  “Excuse me,” he said, “but you just dropped your smile.”

I stopped walking and, stupidly, turned and looked where he was pointing. “What?”

The grin widened. “You just dropped your smile.”

Did he just tell me I dropped my smile? I wondered, still looking at the sidewalk. He must mean my dental appointment card. (Apparently the Novocaine had numbed a bit of my brain, as well.)  Or is he making fun of my numb face?

As if I hadn’t come across like a big enough idiot the first time, I looked up and repeated, “What?”

The guy chuckled. He wasn’t looking at me like he thought I was an idiot. “Your smile. You dropped it.”

Realization began to dawn.  Is he…hitting on me?

“Oh,” I said, and laughed, then walked on to my car. Did I just get hit on while my face is numb?

By the time I’d turned on the ignition and pulled out of my parking spot, the guy, who apparently had been making a delivery, was coming out of the building. He grinned hugely at me, and I laughed again, though I was still asking myself, Was he flirting with me?

I called Mr. Burt to tell him the amusing story, and he concluded that the guy must have been either A) an incredibly awkward flirt, or B) an überdork.  He seemed to be leaning toward überdork, in what I can only describe as a Neanderthallishly endearingly possessive way.  Which leads me to conclude that the guy was, indeed, hitting on me.

I feel badly for him.  He seemed like a nice guy, but he wasted his line on the one woman who was physically incapable of giving him the smile he wanted to see.  I hope he tried it later and got his desired result.

Although I really wish I’d been with it enough to realize sooner that I was being hit on, so I could have said something cleverer than, “What?”  Like, “Dude, I’ve got a face full of Novocaine.  This is the best I can do.”  But as a sage friend pointed out to me:  “I’ve always wondered if at some point, we all just become too old and too married to realize when we’re being hit on.”

Too true, too true.

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überdorks, dental work, getting hit on, novocaine, obscure hunchback of notra dame references, pick-up lines, quasimodo, silliness