Today I visited the Office of Young and Beautiful Dental Professionals in the Big City. I was pretty excited to get a few hours and a long drive all to myself, despite the fact that my face got numbed up and I sounded drunk when I talked for a while because my tongue also got numb. Two weeks ago, my dentist cemented in my new crown, but ended up wanting to do it over because it wasn't absolutely 100% perfect.
Hey, if someone in your life is going to be anal retentive, you want it to be your dentist.
Or your plastic surgeon, I suppose.
I just think it's funny when the dentist and the assistant have this conversation about where steaks come from on a cow, and how eating a cow's butt is so tender and delicious, and I can't do anything other than make some sort of strangled "laughing" sound because my mouth is wide open with what seems like 17 hands poking around in there. I feel so dignified in that situation in front of the young and beautiful dental professionals. I think they all turn 22 or 23 next month, although my dentist is much older -- maybe 24 or 25.
On the way home, I stopped by my parents' house and picked up one of the bunk beds we haven't yet hauled out to our new house. I also spent a long time at the library and the book store. I even stopped by the music store and lingered over some organ and cello books. (Shhhh. I was really late getting home and I haven't admitted that little side trip yet.) I didn't buy any music, but I spent some time drooling -- although I think I can partially blame that on the numb face.
When I got home, all my dreams came true. I walked in and immediately noticed the floor had been well and thoroughly mopped by someone who cared, i.e. not one of the kids. The dishes were all cleaned, the counters and island and table were sparkling, and the piano had been polished. The children's rooms were cleaner than when I left, and everything that is carpeted had been vacuumed. I felt like a reverse Cinderella. Now, if I could get some hordes of talking, clothed mice to cook dinner, I think I wouldn't mind not going to the ball and just basking in the tidy house. Husband is exhausted, of course, as he also had to help the girls remove their single beds so he could put together the bunk bed. I guess the least I can do is cook some sort of dinner for the dear man. And the kids, too, of course. And I'll make brownies for dessert. No pie, though. I can resist brownies, but I can not resist pie. I love pie.
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