Dan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
muchtooarrogant) wrote2014-03-15 07:12 pm
muchtooarrogant) wrote2014-03-15 07:12 pm
LJI S9.1, Jayus
Most kids don't usually look forward to getting braces. The process is guaranteed to be painful, takes place in an over-reclined chair which probably wouldn't have been out of place at a party thrown by the Marquis de Sade, and inevitably involves multiple individuals sticking gloved fingers and metal instruments in your mouth. Even if you're somehow able to overlook these unpleasant truths, the best possible outcome after the encounter is... A mouth full of wires.
Of course, my youngest daughter Amanda has never been like most kids. She's been pestering us for weeks, asking "When are we going to the dentist to get my braces?"
Since my wife and I didn't really want her to miss school for what we assumed would just be an evaluation by the orthodontist, we set up Amanda's appointment this past Friday afternoon, the last week day of her Spring Break. In fact, because both of our daughters were due to have their teeth cleaned by the regular dentist, we killed two birds with one stone, and scheduled them both for tooth cleanings in the morning as well. Again, contrary to what I expected, Amanda didn't care about one of the last days of her vacation being taken up by multiple doctor appointments, but instead was ready to go and "Get my braces!" Even Sarah, her sister, didn't seem to mind joining us for the excursion, although this might perhaps be explained by an opportunity to observe her younger sister being tortured?
The morning dental cleanings went as planned, and after eating lunch, the four of us arrived at the orthodontist's office. We were greeted by a cheerful receptionist, who immediately handed over a thick pile of paperwork that needed to be filled out, and began verifying that our insurance was active. My wife started scribbling, Amanda was taken away for x-rays, and I settled back in my chair for what promised to be a long and boring delay.
The waiting room's most notable feature was a flat screen television, mounted on the wall right above my head, and tuned to HGTV. As I fished out my headphones and prepared to listen to some music on my phone, I heard the featured couple above me discussing room size, beach views, and how the current property they were viewing was "right at the top of their budget." The latter appears to be an HGTV code phrase for, "This one, this one, this one's the one we're going to pick!" Which is fine, I suppose, if you like eating Ramen Noodle Soup for every meal.
I think it would be fair to say that I don't handle boredom particularly well. I had planned ahead of time for the days dull and tedious bits, ensuring that my phone was charged, and that I had a choice selection of music and audio books to listen to, but now, confronted with the reality of another long wait, I grew restless. Lizbeth, the afore-mentioned scribbling wife was busy, so I turned to Sarah.
"What did you think of the dentist this morning?" I asked. Both she and Amanda had previously gone to another dentist, and I was curious to know what she thought of the new tooth cleaner.
"She was okay," Sarah responded, "but a little rude."
"Rude?" I chuckled, caught off guard, "Rude how?"
"She kept asking me all these nosy questions, and then wanted to know if I had a job yet. I told her that I was only fifteen and still in school, and she was like, 'That's no reason not to have a job. Get with the program, lady!'"
I laughed again, "Did you explain to her that your a princess, and that people work for you, not the other way round?"
"Very funny," she said, shoving me with one hand. "I just ignored her after that."
"Well, come on, lady," I retorted, returning the shove, "get with the program!"
Shortly after that, Amanda returned from being x-rayed, Lizbeth handed over the completed paperwork, and we were guided to a small room where we could await the mighty orthodontist. There was just one problem. Amanda, of course, got the large chair in the room's center, Sarah snagged the left side of a contraption that looked like two normal chairs which had been fused in the middle, and Lizbeth took the right. I was--as usual?--the odd man out.
After a few moments where I stood by the room's open door, a little bit like a servant awaiting the summons of a nobleman to refill his wine goblet, Lizbeth said, "Sarah, why don't you let your dad sit there, and you can sit on his lap."
To her credit, Sarah agreed immediately, and I was seated. Although I was marginally more comfortable in this new arrangement, there was still the earlier unresolved boredom issue, compounded by Sarah's inability to sit still. She sat quietly for a few minutes, and then began to wiggle. I shifted my legs, trying to discover a more comfortable position, and she wiggled again. Eventually, tiring of this repetitive game, I poked her in the ribs. This elicited a screech of rage, followed by a retaliatory elbow thrust to my stomach.
"Children!" Lizbeth warned us both, casting me into the juvenile under class.
After another blessed moment of silence, Sarah's attention was captured by the collar of my shirt. "Why is this top button open?" she demanded, tapping my neck accusingly.
"Oh no," I exclaimed, shock and embarrassment evident in every syllable, "thank you so much for pointing that out." Gesturing at my collar bone, I lectured, "You know, for girls, too many open buttons means that other people can sometimes see your cleavage. But this," I fumbled with my shirt's collar, finally succeeding in tapping the exposed bone, "is almost as bad. What you see here is clavage!"
"Oh my god," Lizbeth cried, performing a classic facepalm, "Dan, other people can hear you!"
In my lap, shaking with laughter, Sarah had slumped against the wall to our left, and was slowly banging her head against the painted plaster. In her chair at the center of the room, if not the center of attention, Amanda appeared to be having difficulty breathing. Calmly, I refastened my shirt's top button.
"Yes, I'm sure everyone can hear us, and see us too," I said to Lizbeth. "When it's as quiet and uneventful as it is today, they change the channel in the waiting room from HGTV to the patient rooms back here." Raising my hand, I waved at the imagined location for the video pickup. "How ya doin'?"
Predictably, it was then that the tooth straightener of doom materialized. "I believe I'm going to have to pull this car over," he said, "you guys are having too much fun in here."
The doctor, who never once sat down during our meeting, popped Amanda's x-rays up on a computer screen, and explained the treatment plan he was recommending. He was a talented presenter, and by the time he was done, I felt as though I had a clear understanding of what they would do, how long it would take, and even how much it would cost. The best part of all though, for Amanda at least, came when they checked their schedule to see when it all could begin.
"Actually," the lady looking at the calendar announced, "I have a spot available this afternoon."
So it was that my young Amanda acquired her first set of mouth wires on Friday, and I added a new word to the English language.
Clavage: a shocking and unnecessary display of the hollow between a person's collar bones.
Dan
Of course, my youngest daughter Amanda has never been like most kids. She's been pestering us for weeks, asking "When are we going to the dentist to get my braces?"
Since my wife and I didn't really want her to miss school for what we assumed would just be an evaluation by the orthodontist, we set up Amanda's appointment this past Friday afternoon, the last week day of her Spring Break. In fact, because both of our daughters were due to have their teeth cleaned by the regular dentist, we killed two birds with one stone, and scheduled them both for tooth cleanings in the morning as well. Again, contrary to what I expected, Amanda didn't care about one of the last days of her vacation being taken up by multiple doctor appointments, but instead was ready to go and "Get my braces!" Even Sarah, her sister, didn't seem to mind joining us for the excursion, although this might perhaps be explained by an opportunity to observe her younger sister being tortured?
The morning dental cleanings went as planned, and after eating lunch, the four of us arrived at the orthodontist's office. We were greeted by a cheerful receptionist, who immediately handed over a thick pile of paperwork that needed to be filled out, and began verifying that our insurance was active. My wife started scribbling, Amanda was taken away for x-rays, and I settled back in my chair for what promised to be a long and boring delay.
The waiting room's most notable feature was a flat screen television, mounted on the wall right above my head, and tuned to HGTV. As I fished out my headphones and prepared to listen to some music on my phone, I heard the featured couple above me discussing room size, beach views, and how the current property they were viewing was "right at the top of their budget." The latter appears to be an HGTV code phrase for, "This one, this one, this one's the one we're going to pick!" Which is fine, I suppose, if you like eating Ramen Noodle Soup for every meal.
I think it would be fair to say that I don't handle boredom particularly well. I had planned ahead of time for the days dull and tedious bits, ensuring that my phone was charged, and that I had a choice selection of music and audio books to listen to, but now, confronted with the reality of another long wait, I grew restless. Lizbeth, the afore-mentioned scribbling wife was busy, so I turned to Sarah.
"What did you think of the dentist this morning?" I asked. Both she and Amanda had previously gone to another dentist, and I was curious to know what she thought of the new tooth cleaner.
"She was okay," Sarah responded, "but a little rude."
"Rude?" I chuckled, caught off guard, "Rude how?"
"She kept asking me all these nosy questions, and then wanted to know if I had a job yet. I told her that I was only fifteen and still in school, and she was like, 'That's no reason not to have a job. Get with the program, lady!'"
I laughed again, "Did you explain to her that your a princess, and that people work for you, not the other way round?"
"Very funny," she said, shoving me with one hand. "I just ignored her after that."
"Well, come on, lady," I retorted, returning the shove, "get with the program!"
Shortly after that, Amanda returned from being x-rayed, Lizbeth handed over the completed paperwork, and we were guided to a small room where we could await the mighty orthodontist. There was just one problem. Amanda, of course, got the large chair in the room's center, Sarah snagged the left side of a contraption that looked like two normal chairs which had been fused in the middle, and Lizbeth took the right. I was--as usual?--the odd man out.
After a few moments where I stood by the room's open door, a little bit like a servant awaiting the summons of a nobleman to refill his wine goblet, Lizbeth said, "Sarah, why don't you let your dad sit there, and you can sit on his lap."
To her credit, Sarah agreed immediately, and I was seated. Although I was marginally more comfortable in this new arrangement, there was still the earlier unresolved boredom issue, compounded by Sarah's inability to sit still. She sat quietly for a few minutes, and then began to wiggle. I shifted my legs, trying to discover a more comfortable position, and she wiggled again. Eventually, tiring of this repetitive game, I poked her in the ribs. This elicited a screech of rage, followed by a retaliatory elbow thrust to my stomach.
"Children!" Lizbeth warned us both, casting me into the juvenile under class.
After another blessed moment of silence, Sarah's attention was captured by the collar of my shirt. "Why is this top button open?" she demanded, tapping my neck accusingly.
"Oh no," I exclaimed, shock and embarrassment evident in every syllable, "thank you so much for pointing that out." Gesturing at my collar bone, I lectured, "You know, for girls, too many open buttons means that other people can sometimes see your cleavage. But this," I fumbled with my shirt's collar, finally succeeding in tapping the exposed bone, "is almost as bad. What you see here is clavage!"
"Oh my god," Lizbeth cried, performing a classic facepalm, "Dan, other people can hear you!"
In my lap, shaking with laughter, Sarah had slumped against the wall to our left, and was slowly banging her head against the painted plaster. In her chair at the center of the room, if not the center of attention, Amanda appeared to be having difficulty breathing. Calmly, I refastened my shirt's top button.
"Yes, I'm sure everyone can hear us, and see us too," I said to Lizbeth. "When it's as quiet and uneventful as it is today, they change the channel in the waiting room from HGTV to the patient rooms back here." Raising my hand, I waved at the imagined location for the video pickup. "How ya doin'?"
Predictably, it was then that the tooth straightener of doom materialized. "I believe I'm going to have to pull this car over," he said, "you guys are having too much fun in here."
The doctor, who never once sat down during our meeting, popped Amanda's x-rays up on a computer screen, and explained the treatment plan he was recommending. He was a talented presenter, and by the time he was done, I felt as though I had a clear understanding of what they would do, how long it would take, and even how much it would cost. The best part of all though, for Amanda at least, came when they checked their schedule to see when it all could begin.
"Actually," the lady looking at the calendar announced, "I have a spot available this afternoon."
So it was that my young Amanda acquired her first set of mouth wires on Friday, and I added a new word to the English language.
Clavage: a shocking and unnecessary display of the hollow between a person's collar bones.
Dan
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