fucking whore dentist bitch monster

    Four goddamn years without going to the dentist. Afraid, so afraid, I'm the grown up reflection of the child crying out loud because he doesn't want that small figment of pain from the needle piercing the gum, the motorized little drill digging a hole on the aching tooth.
   I feel like a child in the zoo, except that I am as much a visitor as I am an animal. An animal like all my colleagues on death row, in line for the inevitable doom that lies at the bottom of the abyss. Afraid of le plus laid, plus mechant, plus immonde, the delicate monster: the dentist.
   Neither the television showing cartoons, nor the fashion magazines over the table, nor the plants in every corner, nothing helped the morbid sensation of despair those white lights were giving me, reflecting off the white furniture, off the white floor, off the white walls, off the white woman behind the counter. And my toothache becomes a headache, and I can’t keep my eyes open, and it was hell on Earth, on my whole body, and at the verge of tears I was, listening to the noise of an agonizing child on the other side of the door. 

   The kid was completely red when he came out, red like a chilli pepper, red like his face was covered in blood, and it kind of was. The desperate cry for help turned into a quiet sobbing while he tried his best not to put that lollipop inside his mouth.
   "See? It wasn't so bad." The mother said, but the boy did not respond, too focused on his own struggles. And I felt bad for him as much as I feel bad for a martyr, any martyr, they’re all the same, be it the fourteen-year-old girl who kissed a monk, be it the nine-year-old boy that pretended he was brushing his teeth every night before bed.
   “Anastasia, sweetie! It’s your time!” The fucking whore said.
   And, “fucking whore...”, I thought to myself.   

   “So... Why. (clap) Do. (clap) I. (clap) Not. (clap) See. (clap) You. (clap) Around. (clap) Any (clap) more? (clap.)”
   “Because I did not have a toothache as bad as this one in the past four goddamn years.”
   “Where did you pass Christmas? Mom?”
   “I drank my ass off... and cried.”
   “What a good and responsible adult you are. You should become a mom.”
   “A wine mom, just like you.”
   “I’ve been sober for quite a while, sweetie.” She forcefully opens my mouth “Now, shut the fuck up.”    

   The taste of rubber and metal felt familiar in a way I really wish they wouldn’t, and question after question, I realized more and more how bad I let my mouth get.
   “One extraction. No, wait. Two.” She pointed at the off-white teeth. “Four root canals.” Gives me a flick on the nose. “And why in tarnation don’t you have darn braces yet? Your teeth have such a beautiful color!”
   “I don’t want your stupid straight smile. I’m happy with my teeth the way they are.” She pinches my nose.
   “I’m a dentist, kid. What do you expect my idea of beauty to be?”
   “A bad one.”
   “A good one. Because your teeth are ugly.”
   “There’s literally only a single tooth that is slightly crooked, and you want me to put braces on.”
   “You wouldn’t understand. It will become uglier as you age.”
   “Then I’ll kill myself before getting old and ugly.”
   “Whatever happened to you, Anastasia?”
   “I grew up.”
   “You used to be such a good child.”
   “You used to be such a good aunt.”
   “I am a good aunt.”
   “I am not a good child.”
   “Why wouldn’t I be a good aunt?”
   “You are a good aunt, but you’re also a monster.”
   “I’m not a monster.”
   “No, you are a monster.”
   “Why do you say that?”
   “Because you're a dentist.”
   “Go fuck yourself.”
   “I love you, auntie.”
   “You love me so much, you’ll give me a thousand bucks.” 

   And yeah, I had to give her a thousand bucks. Brush your teeth, kids.