Anyone else out there love going to the dentist?
For me, it’s not about that silky clean-teeth sensation (that lasts all of about 36 hours), nor the goody-bag of miniature tooth care products that still makes me feel like a kid at a birthday party. Oh, I do love those things. I even love the excuse to lie there in a fancy recliner and shut my eyes, responsible for nothing but staying still and keeping my mouth wide. But not as much as I love my dentist.
Dr. Norooz is a total sweetie, from Iran. We share stories about our kids (since he’s fluent not only in English but in Say-Ah-Speak). He gives me tea from Iran–which stains my teeth, but then he cleans them again–and sweet dates his mother sends him, and inspiration about hard work and achievement in America.
His office is full of total sweetie hygienists from exotic places like the Philippines, Afghanistan, and Seattle. They’ve known me and The Mate and our kids for twenty years, and honestly, I feel like I know some of their kids too, even though we’ve never met, just from the stories and the pictures.
I know from several friends that we have a very nice, very competent dentist right here on Lopez Island. But I’m not ready to give up Dr. Norooz. So, twice a year, The Mate and I make the 4-hour trek via ferry and freeway down to Tacoma to check into our happy place…the dentist’s office.
How weird are we? Anyone else make stupidly long treks to visit professionals just because they’re special to you?