06/17/98

I hate filling out forms at dentists' and doctors' offices. They always want to know way more than is necessary. I can kind of relate to my brother refusing to fill out the form he was supposed to in jail. All it takes is one utterly nosy question like, "spouse's date of birth," and I can feel my temper rising. They do not need to know his birthday. Mine, sure, but not his. He's not getting his teeth examined, after all, so what does it matter? It makes me cranky, and when I get cranky I write rude things on questionnaires. Thus, my new dental office is already treating me gingerly and I haven't even had my teeth cleaned yet.

I was supposed to. I took off from work a half hour early which is not easy to do in a small office. I turned up on time, and was informed they needed a full set of x-rays which would preclude the cleaning. You can come back again for the rest, they said after they finished, we close in 15 minutes. No, I said. I can't come back again during work hours. But it's too late to clean your teeth now, they said, and besides, the dentist has already left to go fishing. How nice, I said. I took the time off to be here for my cleaning and it's not my fault you have opted to do x-rays rather than use the perfectly good set my dentist sent you. Clean my teeth now, or find me a weekend appointment. I don't think I raised my voice. I know I radiated danger signals, because they rushed to fit me in this coming Saturday. My appointment for today had to be made two months in advance in case you're not sufficiently impressed by the time factor. Buncha maroons.

So now I'm home, eating a pizza after a full hour of pet care. The cats must be fed, the dog must be walked, the dog must be fed, the cats' cat box must be changed, the floor swept, the carpets vaccuumed, and the treats doled out. Phew. What a day. It's almost nine and I've only just now had a chance to sit. If I go on like this I'm going to need a vacation. Ha!