Grill

I like my dentist. In fact, she and I pass infectious snickering between us throughout treatment. No "laughing gas" required. So, yesterday I'm in for a little cosmetic touching up on my front four choppers--stuff maybe only I notice but all the same, I was in the chair.

She tucks cotton tubes between my gums and upper lip. I'm compelled to ask for a mirror already, but resist.

"So, you wanna grill?" she asks.

Now, even more attractive that just me with my upper chomp fully exposed, is me trying to suspend my snort-riddled laugh at the acid image of Flava Flav that blipped onto my mental screen.

The kerosene on the giggle fire was Dr. K whose face, even with a surgical mask and safety glasses, was clearly pinching up and laughing as hard as I was, hovering 12 inches above me.

She so crazy.

After it's all over with she offers me the hand mirror saying she really thinks it looks great. I tell her, "Okay, but it feels like Fire Marshall Bill or The Mask ala Jim Carrey." We were probably both hoping I wouldn't be startled when I looked in the mirror.

Nice. Subtle. Lovely.

A collective exhale.