I went to the dentist today to have my broken molar dealt with. It's amazing how much I didn't know before today.
When I went in last week, they neglected to tell me that this would be a 90 minute procedure. And it wasn't 90 minutes of fun and joy. Oh no, it was 1.5 hours of tooth drilling, tooth digging, and tooth hammering. The dentist never mentioned that it might take two attempts to get my mouth numbed and that during the first attempt I would most definitely feel the needle poking repeatedly. Nor did he mention that, as he drilled, I'd be able to experience first-hand the smell of burning bone. Or that it would take two attempts to get the right impressions of my teeth -- while holding still for five minutes each time and trying to bite down hard with a numbed mouth. Better yet, no one mentioned until today that I would be receiving a temporary inlay and that in six weeks I get to go through this again when the gold one is put in.
So after all that, I haven't earned either of my new street names: Jeninem, which is the one I came up with, or Vanilla Wife, which is Pete's idea.
At least the dentist did wear his face mask today. Yay!