In Which I am Crowned

I didn’t go to the dentist much as a child, at least not after the day the dentist slapped me because I was wriggling. (I stopped wriggling and glared at him with such venom and singlemindedness he apologized, to which I responded, “I’m telling my mother.”) So, Gary’s first order of business as a new husband was to get me to the dentist. The dentist I landed with was Dr. J____, who told me she had slapped her dentist as a child, thus restoring universal karma.

Dr. J_____ wrote “TLC” on my chart, which meant, “Cried during first visit. Requires nitrous oxide for cleanings. Do not slap.” I no longer require the nitrous oxide for cleanings, but I did suck up 45 minutes of the happy gas when I had all four wisdom teeth cracked out of my head five years ago. Actually, the oral surgeon initially recommended I be knocked out, but relented when I burst into tears after he said the name of the drug they would use: Versed. (Just think of what the bathroom would look like today if I’d had more of the colonoscopy drug.)

At any rate, the nitrous oxide is a lovely drug. It makes me feel drunk, yet not opinionated. Relaxed, with a hint of sans-souci. And it was the first thing I requested when I flopped in the dentist chair this morning for my two new crowns: “Drug me!”

The assistant promptly hooked me up. I am an experienced user. I know to inhale through my nose and exhale through my mouth to achieve the highest concentration. I know to keep the laughs out of the laughing gas experience so the supply is not reduced. And today I reached a new level: I scammed the dentist for more gas.

About half an hour in, as I was inhaling hard enough to collapse the nose mask, I remembered that during my wisdom tooth extraction my right arm raised up and blocked my mouth. I explained to the surgeon that I was fine, but my right arm? It was upset. I didn’t know what its problem was, but it was afraid, whereas I was fine, thank you. He upped the gas.

So I figured I would see if that worked again. (Hey, I’m not proud of this. Its a disease. Remember this when I molest government pages.) However, I couldn’t raise my right arm since that was our agreed “safe word.” Instead I rubbed my feet together like I was starting a fire. I rubbed my hands against my sides and belly. (Actually, only my right hand got in on the act. My left hand must have ethics or something.) I looked pitiful. I performed like Meryl Streep, but my dose was not increased.

Since the scam didn’t work, I searched my brain for the chemical formula for nitrous oxide. It’s nitrogen minus one electron, which has transferred to the oxygen atom. But how do you get the electron to transfer? Can I do it at home? This occupied me while they finished up.

Sadly, at the end there was that moment you realize they have turned off the gas, because you are snorffling your nose like an anteater try to suck the last molecule of nitrous that may be hiding in some crevice, and there is none. I left and capped off the nitrous with a little Starbuck’s to put the edge back on.

Hey! I just remembered! Gary gave me a whipped cream dispenser, which has little capsules of nitrous that pressurize the cream. Heh heh heh.