Tonight I had the thrilling experience of going to the dentist for yet three more fillings. If you’ve been around my blog since the beginning (and I realize that’s not many of you) you may remember my dental saga that has been ongoing since I had children. I have probably had 20 fillings in the last seven years. No joke. Plus one root canal.
Tonight, when I walked into the office, the front desk clerk greeted me by name. Then the dental assistant popped in from the back and greeted me by name. Then I ran into the dentist, literally RAN INTO HIM as he was stepping out of the bathroom, and I was going in.
Talk about awkward. I mean, I realize that dentists use the potty like the rest of us, but there is something about seeing the man who will be spending the next hour with his hands in the recesses of my mouth coming out of the bathroom that is just a little, well, disconcerting.
(And yes, he also greeted me by name.)
So as I went into the restroom after exchanging pleasantries with my dentist, my first thought was, "Yay! Blog fodder!" That, my dear cyberfriends, is how desperate I am for writing material. If seeing my dentist emerge from the bathroom is considered worthy blog fodder, that surely a sad commentary on the quality of my inspiration of late, is it not?
And I’m not exactly sure where I was going to go with that information. It’s too late now to make it into an entertaining story, if there even was any potential for such a thing to begin with. But we’ll never know, now, will we?
So here I am, half of my face numb from the dreaded Novocaine needle that, you may remember, I fear and detest. And still no blog fodder to speak of.
I arrived home at 7:50 to find that Husband had fed and bathed the kids and had them all in bed and was already downstairs working with a friend on the basement. Glorious. That’s what that is. But that’s not the blog fodder.
So I made haste to the kitchen cabinet that contains the, um, spirits, and began to assemble the necessary ingredients for a chocolate martini, my guilty pleasure many nights after the kids are in bed.
But when I went to open my martini shaker, it was hopelessly sealed shut. I tried running it under hot water to loosen the suction, but with no success.
Finally I swallowed my pride and went downstairs to see if Hubs would have better luck with it. No success.
So he passed it to his buddy for his turn playing Open The Shaker! No success.
Finally the two of them each grabbed an end and pulled with all their might.
But hey, BLOG FODDER!
Because really, if you haven’t witnessed your husband and his best friend playing tug of war with your martini shaker, you’re missing out on some highly comical entertainment.
Finally we gave up and decided that a martini stirred, not shaken, while not approved by the martini expert, James Bond, will certainly work in a pinch under my current circumstances. I’m not picky. As long as it contains vodka and Godiva liqueur, I’m good to go, no matter how the two substances are combined.
So here I sit, sipping my martini, stirred not shaken, while Hubs slaves away in the basement and the kids are retired in their beds, all ready to peruse some blogs in peace and quiet before I head off to the black hole that is my scrapbooking room.
This is the life!