At The Dentist (continued from last time):

"Your saliva is probably fine," said the hygienist, Keratin (not her real name). "In any case, it's up to the doctor to decide if what I see here on the x-ray is a cavity or not. So we'll just wait and see."

She disappeared behind my reclined chair. SNAP! (her first glove). SNAP! (again). "Anyway," she said, "I'm thinking of buying a small SUV, either the Honda CRV or the Nissan Xterra." SNAP! (she's three-handed?) "Do you know anything about these two vehicles?"

"Aren't you supposed to wait until my mouth is full of dental instruments before you start probing me with questions? When vowel sounds are all I'm physically capable of making and I'm utterly inconsonant? Isn't this humiliating technique just another one of your power tools?" I asked her all of this.

Keratin sat down beside me, her shiny, pointy things tray within easy reach. She slipped her mask up over her mouth and looked at me.

"How do I know you're not sticking your tongue out at me right now, Keratin?" I asked. "Also, are dental hygienists unionized? And if so, don't you think it's high time that your guild change its professional title, which is highly degrading to the people you serve? Because when you call yourselves hygienists, you implicitly suggest that we can't go it alone on something as basic as hygiene. How about Mouth Attendant? It's way less biased. Stewardesses made this move about twenty years ago and everybody loved it."

"You're stalling," she said.