When Did You Last Have a Stranger's Fingers in Your Mouth?

I'll be honest. The dentist is by far my least favorite doctor. You'd think he wouldn't be. I mean a dentist isn't going to weigh you, he's not going to ask you to take your clothes off, he's not going to have you laying on a table with feet in stirrups and probe you in private places with cold instruments. None of that. He just asks you to sit in a comfy chair, fully clothed, and open your mouth wide for a little while. Still, I hate the dentist. I fear the dentist. I loathe the dentist. I actually bit my last dentist. And unfortunately, now that I'm an adult and can make my own choices, I've chosen to avoid the dentist for far too long.

It's time to go back. It's time to face the music. Why now, you might ask? Well, if you read the New York Times Sunday Edition this week, I don't think you'd be asking that question. In the front section was an article discussing the status of dental care in Britain. Did you know that in Britain, drug stores actually sell emergency dental kits. You know, just in case you need to have a tooth pulled and can't find a dentist to do it. Apparently, the state of public dental care is in such disarray that this problem ranks as high as gas prices and the Iraq War in the minds of the public. Poor people often have to take it upon themselves to cure what ails them, toothaches and all.

Just the notion of "autoextraction" sends chills down my spine and forces me to think this: "Don't be stupid, Katie. Use your damn dental insurance! Enjoy that novocaine!"

So, I leave you with this last question - does anyone know a good dentist??