Torture

I can't help that my teeth are made of sugar.
Every time I go to the dentist I have a cavity. Even if it's just a little one that requires no anesthesia, it's still there to mock me and my ever tarnished record.
My poor husband, who NEVER gets cavities, thinks that teeth composition should be part of a premarital survey so you know whether or not to start a savings account for all the future work to be done.
So there I am. In the chair. Bright lights on my face. An 8 month pregnant hygienist poking me with her belly in my ear every time she leans in to get some work done. And she was a talker. You know what I mean. The kind that asks questions while you're sitting there and expects you to answer while she holds a mirror, a sucking tube and a strange poking torture device in your mouth simultaneously.
She started scraping around and complimenting me on how nice my teeth look, how I have no tarter, etc. etc. I'm thinking " I know, I know. When your teeth are made of sugar you have to brush, floss, and fluoride religiously. " And then the inevitable. "Uh oh," she says. "Looks like someone has a cavity." As though I didn't see that coming. And like she needed to refer to me as 'someone' as though there was another patient beside myself currently sitting in that cubicle of death.
And so the torture continued for a full half hour. She continued to TRY to draw blood by poking each and every inch of my gums ( a supposed test for my gum health), and then ratted me out to the dentist about that little soft spot in the lingual of tooth 2. Whatever that means.
I hate the dentist.