Gospel Trooth

Women who really want to preach at men don’t seek ordination, since they know that men who are disinclined to be admonished by women any more than duty and necessity require can always find places other than church (like the golf course or work shop) to commune with their Maker. 

No, the really serious reformers-of-males become Dental Hygienists, for having one’s teeth worked on is something approaching a universal necessity, and nowadays the pilgrim to the dental cathedral can hardly avoid dealing at portals with a smiling gospeler whose job is ostensibly to clean your teeth, but whose actual mission is to turn you into a fanatic whose life is henceforth to be lived in service to them.

Here is a completely truthful account of my dialogue with one of them at my last visit to the dentist:     

Dental Hygienist:  “Good morning!  May I call you “Bad Little Stevie?  I’ve got some tools on that tray that say I can.”

Me: “Oh yes, please do.”

DH: “Have a seat here.  Some new safety protocols: Just three little straps: one at the ankles, one below the sternum, and one at the neck.  Comfy?  Now open up.”

M: “Ahhhggh.”

DH: “My, what beautiful teeth!  At fifty-seven you only have two cavities?  If you don’t floss them seven times a day, they’ll all fall out, probably before your next birthday.  People who are serious about keeping their teeth brush them after every meal (twice to be sure, because the toughest brush we’ll let you use has the stiffness of baby hair) and floss them twelve or more times a day.  At your age you probably have prostate problems that get you up two or three times a night.  Remember this little poem: 'Up to pee? Floss those teeth.' ”

M: “Can’t I try betel nuts?”

DH: “Now, now, it’s no joking matter.  As you get older, your gums get gummier (just like your tum gets tummier--you could stand to lose a few pounds, couldn’t you?), more susceptible to those nasty little bugs called bacteria, who poop out slicks of tooth-eating acid.  They make your mouth into a slimy, stinking pit of tooth death.  And remember, the teeth are where the rest of the body begins: Dens sanus, corpore sano, my son.”

M: “There’s no other way?”

DH: “No.  You must repent, believe, and live a new life.  I can see by looking at those teeth that you have been a very bad man.  Popcorn last night, eh?”

M:  “EEEEE!”

DH: “Tender spots like that are caused by sin, Stevie--mortal sins, I suspect, like chocolate before retiring, or years of brushing only once a day” [here she shudders and makes the signum dentis].”
 
M: “Invincible ignorance, Lady--okay, okay, I believe!  Have mercy!”

DH: “We’ll find out about your sincerity at your next visit.  Say three Hail Fairies and five I’ll Bothers.  There’s no hiding place down here.  Take ‘im, Doc.” 

Comments

[smh]

The ancient signum dentis, the sign of the tooth, is made by clasping the hands together with fingers turned into the palms, slightly inclining the head.

Some scholars believe Stonehenge and similar monuments were originally erected to imitate this sign, but many of the original stones were lost due to failure to floss, accounting for the unsightly gaps in the remaining ones. Lack of any evidence whatever for this elegant theory has served to increase its popularity in the academic community during the last several generations.

[BLT]

Perhaps a trip down to the Dental Spa in Indy is in order. Supposedly it is a place where "You’ll find each staff member eager to please you. And when you leave, you’ll find yourself eager to come back." It sounds like a nice place to worsh. . ., uh, have your teeth cleaned.

[David Deavell]

This is unfortunately too close to my experience with the Dental Hygienist. I often come out of the office and absentmindedly kneel and say five Hail Mary's in front of the fish tank, with a firm purpose of amendment regarding dental floss.

[Clifford Simon]

A cautionary tale. There was a man called Smith. The Dental Hygenists preyed on his fear of disease and made a quick convert of him. He might have been redeemable at that stage, until they instilled in him a fear of bad breath--- and who may turn back? Now he has given himself up to the Cosmetic Dentists and their hidden wisdom. In exchange for his vow of poverty by bills, they have initiated him with whitening and straightening, which every bondman bears in his body as a mark. Thus Smith's lips veil the glory of Dental Law, and the symmetries of his teeth represent secret numbers.

[Fr. Bill]

Would you believe that my last attempt to set an appointment with my dentist was foiled (temporarily) by his appointments secretary, who refused to schedule me until I had first scheduled a separate appointment for a dental cleaning?

Shame on you. It's trooth, gospel trooth at that.

Fortunately, the dentist is a personal friend, and trading upon that fact I directed dire threats at her, accompanied by the breathing of smoke and brimstone that passed through the telephone lines into her telephonic ear-piece. She relented.

In a subsequent admonition to my dentist-friend, he sheepishly protested that this tactic was well-intended, though he also acknowledged that it made no provision for his patients whose dental hygiene was impeccable. "So, you're happy to serve only reprobates? You seek to fatten yourself on the certainly sinful habits of nonflossers, nonbrushers, and similar dental profligates? You're happy to drive the dentally righteous out of your temple?"

The poor man's a Baptist, accustomed to being preached at every Sunday as if he were an unbeliever. Well trained by his Pastor in spiritual matters, he's simply mimicked him in dental matters.

So far, I haven't needed his services since then. We'll see if he's repented when my fallen teeth require I seek his ministrations again.

[Beth from TN]

I'm seeing great potential for some of you to collaborate on a piece modeled after _Screwtape_ -- the Most Dishonorable Commissionar of Dental Services to his minions serving in dental offices . . . :-)