1. This list might be more random than usual, but there's a theme. WATER.
2. That's important.
3. Before I explain myself, let me tell you a few things you probably don't need to know, and one thing you DO need to know.
4. Important: Today is the last day to enter to win a signed copy of Saundra Mitchell's THE VESPERTINE. Don't miss out!
5. Now, for some not so important things. Etsy is
6. It is crack. Not only do they have some awesome stores whose wares I frequently drool over, they also have a feature where you can curate your own treasury list of items based on a theme of your choosing.
7. Reader, I cannot resist this.
8. Last night, I made four lists. Because I adore them, and because I cannot possibly have
- The Colors of Summer
- Life's A Beach (This is my favorite, I think)
- I Love A Rainy Day (This one is the most popular with Etsy folks so far)
- Pretty In Pink
10. Now, for something of dire importance.
11. Water done WRONG.
12. Cue ridiculously WRONG visual aid that actually has nothing to do with the following story except for a vague connection to water.
|Look at me! I am so WRONG, I might be right. Okay, no. I am just WRONG. But hey, you're still looking.|
14. When one goes to the dentist, one does not expect to be risking one's life.
15. OR, if one is risking one's life, one expects it to be because one coughed while the hygienist had that sharp, pointy thing inside one's mouth aimed most inconveniently at the back of one's throat.
16. One does not expect to risk one's life while rinsing.
17. I usually have the same hygienist every time I visit my dentist. She's a lovely woman with two beautiful daughters, an affinity for adoption, and the charming ability to clean my teeth without causing me cardiac arrest.
18. This time, a new hygienist was in charge of helping the dentist with the entire procedure. I'm sure she's a perfectly lovely woman too. When she isn't a) trying to kill me, b) trying to discuss Kathie Lee and Hoda with me while shoving her hands down my throat, and c) trying to KILL ME.
19. The problem started when the dentist realized my filling needed to be replaced because apparently I clench my teeth at night, and therefore I'd cracked the outside of my tooth. This necessitated more work than she'd anticipated, and so she had to make sure I was not just numb, but My Lip Might Be Wrapped Around The Bottom Of My Shoe And I Don't Care numb.
20. This took three shots.
21. By the time the third shot kicked it, I no longer knew how to properly work the muscles in my face.
22. Heck, I wasn't even sure I still had a face.
23. And I was pretty sure I might be drooling.
24. Enter the new hygienist, a perky woman with a Wisconsin accent who kept asking me questions and then saying "Ya, ya, ya" and laughing.
25. I had no real issue with that, until she started expecting an answer.
26. I tried to give her one when she pointed to the tv in the corner and asked something about whatever asinine thing Kathy Lee and Hoda were doing, but it sort of sounded like Mumfpshs. Shrumboobab. Oogg. And I don't think she truly understood me.
27. Also? When I opened my mouth? Drool. Like WHOA.
28. Still, none of that was life-threatening.
29. The dentist came in, confirmed that I was now missing half of my face, tilted me so far back in the chair that blood rushed to my head, and began to drill.
30. None of that was life-threatening either.
31. But when she finished her first round of drilling, looked at the hygienist, and said "Rinse," I wish I'd understood that "rinse" was code for "flush every orifice you can reach." Because if I'd understood that salient piece of information, I would've taken myself right out of that office, face or no face.
32. But I didn't. So I sat there, my head significantly lower than my body, my mouth still crammed with instruments of torture, and let the hygienist poke the water hose into my mouth and turn it on.
33. The water instantly flooded my sinuses.
34. And began to leak out my nose.
35. And I could not breathe.
36. But I was missing half of my face, so I couldn't say that I couldn't breathe.
37. I tried. It sounded like "Ibbba coggggg bwaaaannthmp."
38. The hygienist leaned forward and said, "What's that, dear?"
39. By this time, I'd begun to accompany my failed attempts at communication with full-on body twitches, and a wild attempt to sit up that had her exclaiming in alarm and gently shoving me back into position.
40. I tried again. "The waaaa woooonnnnn umph maaaa nossssh."
41. "That's nice, dear," she said. And I began to wish terrible, terrible things would happen to her. Things involving water hoses, and duct tape, and a constant loop of Richard Simmons, the early years, on her VCR.
42. The dentist was better skilled at interpreting words from people with half a face. She said "Did the water go up your nose?"
43. "Yumshhhh," I said.
44. "Oops," she said. "Sorry about that."
45. I accepted her apology as graciously as a girl with half a face, a mouthful of metal instruments, and a chin dripping a continuous string of drool could possibly do. But then, THEN, she finished drilling a second time and said "Rinse."
46. And, dear reader, the hygienist poked the hose into my mouth and once more filled my sinuses with water.
47. At this point, I realized I'd neglected to ask a very important question.
48. I jerked away from her, snort-snerked the water out of my sinuses as best I could (not the easiest task when I only had half a face to work with), and said the following: "Ooo yuuuu knoaaaoo Beffff Revvissshhh?"
49. Because it occurred to me that my hygienist was trying to kill me. And anyone who expects to carry on a conversation with a girl who's lost half her face while having a mouth full of every piece of equipment known to the dentisting world couldn't possibly have come up with such a dastardly plot on her own. Beth Revis, having failed in her first attempt, had to be behind it.
50. Both the dentist and the hygienist pretended not to know what I was talking about, (In fact, they acted somewhat confused as to who Beth Revis was and why I'd be asking about her.) but they didn't fool me. This had Beth Revis written all over it.
51. Especially when the hygienist pretended to feel bad for nearly drowning me a second time, yanked the hose from my mouth, and managed to squirt me UP THE NOSE from the OUTSIDE and then score a direct hit IN MY EYE before remembering to turn off the water.
52. I would've given her a piece of my mind, but figured the lack of enunciation, coupled with the drool, might mitigate the impact.
53. Plus, I didn't want to give her any further cause to go after the few orifices she'd missed.
54. I left the dentist's office and went straight to Books A Million to finish revising TCD, a move which may, in retrospect, have been ill-advised.
55. You'll recall that this is the same coffee shop where just the week before, the day Beth Revis first tried to kill me, I'd contorted my face in all manner of unnatural positions while unknowingly looking like a homeless woman?
56. Now, I was walking into the coffee shop with half of my face dangling around my knees.
57. The barista greeted me, and I tried to nonchalantly greet her in return, but I'm pretty sure it was a fail. A) because it sounded something like "Doonnmt maaandd mee aaah wassshhh almoooossssht killllebd aat thbe dennntissssshbt", B) because she looked at me with pity and offered me a free raspberry chocolate smoothie sample, and C) because when I sat down, I realized I was still drooling.