I have a mutant tooth!  An extra one, just hiding up there in the gums between my canine and an incisor.  Like a ninja.

“Promise me that’s going to stay right there,” I begged when Dr. G showed me the x-ray images. I was laughing, but I meant it very sincerely.

“Oh, it will, ” the dentist said, turning back to the x-rays. “I can’t see any reason it wouldn’t. It’s stayed right there this long.”

“I don’t want it just deciding to grow out all snaggle toothy – like, the day before the wedding.”

He chuckled and promised – it’s probably been there my whole life and never moved. Why no one saw it until now is the mystery. He reached for my chart and made some mmm hmmming noises and as he went over my medical history, began to read some of my fill-in-the-blank answers.

“Oh, you’re gonna love this,” he said, motioning to his dental assistant. “That’s funny stuff.”

She read my chart and her nose crinkled up. “You know, I totally agree.”

Under miscellaneous medical information, the new patient questionnaire asked, “What medications are you taking now?” I’d dutifully jotted down the name of birth control prescription I take and then next to it, under “Correlating diagnosis/reason?”

Parenthood is scary.

What wasn’t that scary was my diagnosis: Healthy teeth, healthy gums and really, minus the discovery of my middle age mutant ninja tooth, absolutely nothing of note. Perfection! Nary a cavity or nothin’! I can’t lie -  loved hearing all those number ones rattled off during my gum examination. One! One! I felt like a friggin’ champ.

“You make people who follow all the rules look pretty bad.”

I smiled.

“But.”  The hygienist put on her mother face. “You should really floss.”

She then delivered a rather stern and terrifying lecture about flossing and bacteria and heart disease and cancer. I listened and promised her I’d try harder. And I will. Once a day, she said, and I can do that. Or, I can try very earnestly to do that and not beat myself up too bad when I fail, because, look, I may have big ole feet, wide hips and skin tone the color of skim milk, but genetics took a little pity and gave me some rockin’ chompers and I’m not going to question the wisdom behind that.

Tomorrow afternoon, I have an appointment with the dentist.

I have not been flossing.

If you’re new here, I should probably let you in on a little secret:  I’m the kind of girl who will take a bad report at the dentist… poorly. At this point, though – pair years of no dentist visits with those seriously lackadaisical flossing habits – it’s highly unlikely I’m going to receive any of that glowing praise my inner Type A craves. And it’s giving me a stomach knot.

I need affirmation.

Historically(and I’m knocking on all sorts of wood laminate surfaces as I type this), I have had really, really nice teeth. Not Davy Jones’ movie star *ping!* teeth, but stain free, cavity free, hard as rock teeth. They’re pretty straight and pretty white and they never, ever hurt (except when they do, and it’s not my fault). I recognize that doesn’t mean squat when it comes to all the things that can go wrong with a person’s teeth especially when they’ve neglected approximately nine regular cleanings.

I have a feeling I’m in for a rude, rude awakening.

I’d blame my hiatus on the lack of dental insurance, but then you’ll say, “But it’s your teeth! Aren’t they worth the money? You only get one set! Unless you are a shark!” and you’ll be right. The truth of the matter is, I just hate it. Even the sounds in a dentist’s office make my mouth sweat and my stomach flip – forget what happens when he pulls out that shiny pick and starts scraping and poking. And the smell. Dear god.  All this before they give you a bad grade for hating to floss! It’s really more than I can bear.

It’s going to take all my powers of grown up responsibility just to get me to that office tomorrow.  And then what’s going to stop me from crying and/or ralphing? Nada.

Just now, while I was filling out the New Patient Form, I got to the question about allergies and sensitivities. I hesitated, my pen hovering over the page for a minute before I wrote, in my nicest penmanship,

Allergies:

• None

Sensitivities:

• Latex
• Sodium Laurel Sulfate
• Criticism

They can’t say I didn’t warn ‘em.

In Features this weekend:

• My friend Laura helps me pick a Super Bowl team to cheer for – and some quick facts so I don’t look like a poser
• Join in on our Emma book report with your own Highbury Facebook Status

And if you’re musically inclined, I could use a little help updating my iPod. I have an iTunes gift card to use and no idea what I should be listening to. Other than Glee soundtracks, I haven’t bought music in so long it’s embarrassing. What’s good? What’s… crucial to my development as a fully functioning member of society/non dork? Top five? Top ten? Whatever, I seek digital music enlightenment.

Happy Super Bowl, everybody. Don’t double dip.

Yesterday, I got a message on Facebook from Clare, a reader from Australia, about the recent flooding in Queensland and the devastation caused by Tropical Cyclone Yasi. The storm left 170,000 homes without power which may take weeks to restore. It’s a disaster not unlike our own Hurricane Ike.

I’m not always as aware as I should be about what’s going on outside of my own small, selfish bubble and that’s something I’m trying to change. After reading about the hardships of our friends in Queensland, I have decided to donate January’s charity set-aside to aid in the recovery. I figure it’s a cause that covers children, animals and health and even if it’s no fancy celeb million dollar telethon, it’s something.

For information on how you can help, including ways to make international donations, please visit Queensland’s disaster relief site.