Scripts

Going to the dentist is never any fun, but when my mouth is frozen and I’m gagged by the gigantic rubber dam and all I can do is sit and listen, evil thoughts of sweet revenge do swirl in my heart and head. Of course I never act on them.

“Are you okay?” my darling dentist, who shall remain nameless, asks.

I waggle my fingers in assent.

“Almost done,” she says, as she hammers home rebar and slaps on the cement.

My teeth would grate at the cheerful sound of her voice—if that damn dam wasn’t in the way.

“I do like this new amalgam,” she says and she and her assistant engage in a conversation that sounds like a commercial.

What seems like hours later, the damn dam is removed and I can unlock my jaw.

“You two sounded like you had a script,” I mumble through frozen lips. “Any chance you’re being paid by the amalgam maker company?”

Hoots of laughter to which I do not join.

Settled once again in her chair two weeks later and all damned up, my darling dentist and her assistant begin another conversation that again sounds like a commercial. I notice that they dart glances at the wall over my head. I turn to see a script pasted on the cupboard door. Very funny! More hoots of laughter. I almost choke on the damn dam.

But, this time, I’m ready! I pull out a flash card that reads?

How’s your bird?

 

“Good one?” she says, as her assistant launches into a description of the bird’s new vocabulary.

They think it’s over, but no. I pull out another card.

How are the dance
lessons going?

And another.

How’s the new car?

 

And another.

How’s your sex
life?

 

Ah, yes, revenge is sweet.

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