Her fascinating girl parts.

…

What?

She’s got ‘em. I like ‘em.

It works.

Whenever I take pictures of her, the first one will always show her sticking her tongue out and making a devil sign with her hand.

Every time.

[Pause.]

Hmmm. I think that needs italics.

Every. Time.

Better.

She doesn’t do this to other people. It’s just me.

It seems that I am not permitted to take a photo of her without her declaring her eternal allegiance to the Dark Lord of Rock.

She is slowly allowing me to train her to accept my rewinding of movies or television when she talks over it. Or rustles a bag of chips. Or breathes loudly.

What used to result in an unrelenting barrage of ridicule and much kicking of my belly has been reduced to a mere eye roll.

I’m winning.

When I’m depressed, her first suggestion to cheer me up is fast food.

And it usually works.

When I’m eating it.

So… now I just have to wait for supper time.

[Sound of little black cloud over my head.]

I am at the dentist getting my teeth cleaned.

I had missed the past two appointments — one I cancelled, the next was cancelled by the dentist. And I am an unapologetic non-flosser. (Damned Mega-Global Floss Conglomerate.)

All this means one thing — pain is the order of the day.

The descaling progresses like a ground war in Asia. Nobody is winning this one. Small battles, retrograde actions by paramilitary forces, midnight ambushes, lightning strikes, heavy bombing, patrols missing for three days in the jungle, “Man, only have three more days then I am outta here back home to my girlfriend have I shown you her pictureOHMYGOD! I’VE BEEN SHOT! UNG! AGH! PLOP!”… and lots and lots of blood.

My mouth — like love — is a battlefield.

But finally, the hygienist says that that worst is over and she just needs to check that she has gotten everything. So she puts away the heavy artillery descaler — I hate you and you must die — and pulls out the pick, which at this point looks like a cuddly brown bear.

She takes a few jabbing passes through my mouth and then I hear her say, “Hmph. Just a sec.”

She slides out of my field of view.

I hear a drawer opening.

I hear rustling as she roots around for something.

There is a pause.

And then… I hear this noise:

SSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHK.

[Pause.]

SSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHK.

[Pause.]

SSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHK.

This is not a noise I have heard in a dentist’s office before.

I turn my head around to the sight of my hygienist… SHARPENING HER DENTAL PICK.

I can’t help it. I start to laugh.

She sees me looking at her. She looks down at her hands, looks at me, and she starts to laugh.

WHILE STILL SHARPENING HER DENTAL PICK.

I will admit it.

This is when I begin laughing hysterically.

THROUGH THE BLOOD.

…

For those that are worried, I have no cavities. I never have cavities. My Lovely Wife hates that.