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Mr. Thirsty is Screaming

9/22/2016

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I’m lying there unable to communicate except for a flutter of my hands. I’m seeing monster faces in the pattern of the acoustic tile ceiling, because, well, that’s what I do. Pandora is playing a Billy Joel song and my dentist is testing his 20-something assistant on her 70s music knowledge. She’s heard the name…He proceeds to tell her about Billy as he knows him – heavy-set, bald, bug-eyed – in his soft and adorable Colombian accent, but can’t remember the name of the beautiful model he was once married to. My eyes are wild behind my protective eyewear, darting to the doctor, the assistant, doctor, back to the assistant, pleading with my eyebrows for them to rip the duct tape off my mouth and let me speak! He fashions my baby tooth to look like an adult one, and sweat forms on my brow as I furiously attempt to mentally transmit the model’s name to him, to throw my voice over to the assistant like she’s a ventriloquist’s dummy, but only this comes out: iheee innneee! I’m the monster in Young Frankenstein in top hat and tails dancing with Gene Wilder and putting on the ritz. Christie Brinkley! Alas, it’s drown-out by the screaming of Mr. Thirsty vigorously sucking the saliva out of the bottom of my mouth. To not be able to sing to all the pop 70s songs of my youth, to not pipe in on the conversation when little-know-it-all me knows the answers; this is true torture!
 
For now I relax. Or try to – my mouth has become a construction site, as the doctor moves on to removing the last of my ancient fillings from the Land of Metallica and replacing it with a crown. Singing under his breath, “Hold me closer tiny dah-han-cer,” he’s pushed the heavy drilling equipment up to 11, a cloud of fine tooth bits is spattering everything within a three-foot radius, a hot, iron smell fills my nostrils, and over the heinous high-pitched sound my stomach growls. My brain has been tricked into thinking it’s snack time by the sluice of water, metal and mmm-mmm calcium and my stomach responds with a roar like it’s never been fed before. I’m embarrassed at its gullibility.
 
I’m left alone while the gloppy mold of my new tooth crown is setting, and close my eyes. My teeth are clenched down in a bite, and I do some deep breathing for five minutes, until I feel something wet trailing down the side of my neck and realize I’m so numb I’ve unwittingly drooled Niagara Falls out of the side of my mouth. I’m busy cleaning myself up with my completely useless bib when the assistant comes back in. She gets busy inserting a cord around the remaining bottom of the tooth, which apparently proves difficult.
 
“Your tissue is very buoyant.”
 
“That’s what she said!” I couldn’t help but reply. In my head.
 
When I'm finally done and checking out at the receptionist’s desk, I try to apply some tinted chap stick but my upper lip is still numb, and I fear I’ve smeared it all over my face. I smile sheepishly as I leave, but when I get to the car and glance at the rearview mirror I see nothing but a palsied sneer, a lame Elvis impersonator in the driver’s seat. With a sloppy pink clown mouth.
 

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Aloha Mole

9/1/2016

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“I’ve got this mole, see,” I said in my best gangster talk as I flipped ashes from my imaginary stogie onto my skirt that was bunched up around my waist. The paper modesty drape crinkled as I shifted self-consciously on the doctor’s chair. He wanted to know what prompted me to come in. “It’s…different.” I hesitated.
 
Earlier his nurse had asked where the mischievous mole was located, and I indicated with my hand. “Your thigh?” His finger paused over his digital notepad.
 
“Uh, no. It’s on my…. pubis?” My mons, my hoo-hah, my-god-I’m-nearly-55-and-I-don’t-really-know-what-I-should-call-it-anatomically. Is that a blush or a hot flash I’m feeling? I considered Googling it when I was in the dermatology waiting room with all the other redheads, blondes and fair-skinned of our species, (and one poor teen with acne that made me cringe inside with sympathy). The nurse wrote it down, so I figured one of us knew. He then asked if I would be more comfortable with a female in the room during the (male doctor’s) exam. I shrugged my shoulders indifferently, but secretly wished for an overweight assistant; I don’t feel that uncomfortable showing my body, but the fat…not so much.
 
I read recently that "The mythical explanation of antiquity was that the gods, concerned that some mortals were just too beautiful, sent dark spots down to mar pretty faces." My face is liberally spattered with freckles and beauty marks, that kind-hearted euphemism. Thank you very much you jealous gods! But the Mons Mole, hidden in its Top Secret location since birth like a discreet tattoo, always held a certain aura of mystery about it. “Has he seen your mole?” became a friend’s code for a relationship’s…progress, shall we say.
 
“Different how?” the dermatologist prompted me.
 
“Well, it’s tender, and it’s grown horns.” I demonstrated by wiggling my index fingers at the top of my head. The doctor rewarded me with widened eyes, and eyebrows shooting up over the rims of his glasses.
 
“Now I’m intrigued! Let’s have a look. Will I be able to see it easily?” he said as he snapped his purple gloves on and reached for a magnifying light. I could sense his eagerness and was happy I could make his day a bit more fun; if there were Master’s Degrees in Lightheartedness I would have one.
 
“Oh yeah,” I nodded. Put that magnifying glass back, honey, and say hello to my lil’ fren.
 
We decided to remove it. It was a bit hard to say goodbye to this part of me, this piece of myself, but it was probably for the best. The doctor picked up on my sense of humor ("Can you see any gray since you're down there?") and said that they were going to mount it on the break room refrigerator. I was comforted by the thought of its little horns waving back and forth as the fridge door was opened daily.

I considered ending this post with a recipe for Pumpkin Mole, but that’s too far, even for me.
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    Hi, I'm Lori, a lover of feeding people. Be it with words, whimsy, or some tasty food, I want to warm your belly or your heart.  Or at the very least tease out a little smile.

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