Sucking it up in the Dentist's Office

This morning I went to the dentist sans children.
It was my turn to get my teeth cleaned.

I love these kind of appointments.
You know, where I am alone.
A L O N E...

While I'm in the waiting room,
I read all the latest gossip rags
that I would never buy,
but secretly devour.

Did you know that Amy Grant and Vince Gill
like a good argument now and then?
That she hates to clean and cook
and he can have a hot temper?

Or was it the other way around?

Anyway, it's stuff like that
that I need to know,
like important stuff, right?

So the dental hygenist came out and called me
before I could finish reading about
some other starlet who wonders how long her
light will shine before dimming to a spark.

Meh.
I was ready for my turn.
Like I said,
I love getting my teeth cleaned.
It's like getting in a bed
with clean sheets on it...
so nice and crisp and tingly.

The one thing I find awkward is
the obvious:
trying to carry on a conversation
while someone is digging the gunk
outta my teeth with a pick axe.

The conversation is forever being interrupted
by the cleaning,
which is,
I know,
the point of the whole gathering--
but I can be a Chatty Cathy sometimes--
I know, it's hard to believe,
but there you have it.
And the constant scraping
swishing
spitting
sucking
is disruptive at best.
OK OK
so there is a POINT to this
and here it is--

After the hygienist finished up,
I had some time to wait before our
awesome Dr. Rogers could come in and
examine my chiclets;
so she sits me up,
and points out the magazines
for me to choose if I want to,
to pass the time away.

I look over and all there are
are four National Geographics
and one O (for Oprah--the TV celebrity, not our dog).
I half-want to choose the O magazine,
but it's really 15% content and 85% advertisements,
AND truth be told,
reading National Geographic magazine makes me
feel smarter just looking at the pages.
Don't judge.
Aww, g'head, judge away.
I'm old, I've got nothing to hide at this point.

So I choose a National Geographic.
Flipping thru the pages
I come across the fantastic photography,
interesting stories about forgotten cultures,
and then,
I stopped skimming when I came to a story
that choked me up...
there I sat in the dental chair,
with tears welling up in my eyes
and a lump in my throat.
tears, people.
in the dentist's office!
And not because I was in pain!
No, because I'm a boob!

Thank goodness for a spark of clarity
that summoned my senses to the present situation--
I heard the dental hygienist coming
and knew Dr. Rogers was with her...
they could not see me in tears,
I told my self:
Suck it up! Dawn. Man, you're such a boob.


And I did.
Until I got to the car,
and then I just let myself feel a little sad
about the story,
and felt a little guilty for the privilege
of having my teeth cleaned.
It's such a luxury, you know that, 
right? 
Man, I can't take me anywhere.
I shoulda brought the kids.
Is this what happens when you get old?
Weepy n' stuff?
Sheesh.