Disheveled Dentist

I see a pair of good-looking dentists – as a patient.  No, that’s not why I see them, but it’s the truth.  They happen to both be very competent at their profession as well as being fit, attractive men in their prime.  One of them is married, and he and his wife have several children.  The other appears to be single – he doesn’t wear a wedding band, and there are no family pictures on display. 

I believe in having good hygiene – dental and otherwise.  I tell my children that whether they choose to enhance their appearance or not they should always be clean and fresh.  To this end, I went to a routine dental check-up and discovered that I had an abscess under a several years old root canal.  My jaw needed treatment and said root canal needed to be redone.  I ended up seeing the single dentist for treatment. 

His office is the kind of space in which you just can’t help but relax.  The day of my appointment, I had been running full speed since my feet hit the floor that morning.  It wasn’t an overly stressful day, but I was tightly wound just because of the pace.  From the moment I got to his office the desire to relax just gently washed over me. 

He’s confident.  He’s competent, and his gently commanding air is very assured, but not imposing.  It’s obvious that he possesses a sharp intellect.  He’s handsome and in good shape.  He dresses nicely. In short, he’s hot.  He’s sexy.  He’s the kind of man I tend to be very attracted to.  

I’ve noticed this since the first time that I met him.  I respect that doctor-patient relationship and even if I didn’t, I’m not the sort of person to blatantly throw myself at someone.  However, I can’t help but notice that I find him attractive and wonder what his story is.  I have no way to know if he’s single. Honestly, I’m not even sure if he’s straight or gay – this is Austin after all.  At the same time, he’s so masculine and sexy that I can’t imagine he’s not straight.

At my first appointment, he sits down and discusses the abscess with me and explains that it will take two visits to treat properly.  He asks if I have any questions.  I don’t, so after we chat about anesthetic he gets started.  The treatment takes an hour and half or so and he explains the medicine regimen that I need to be on until the swelling recedes.  He brings me the first dose before I leave the office.  He gives me his business card with his personal cell number written on the back in case I need anything.  

The treatment was on a Thursday.  Over the weekend, my phone rings.  I don’t recognize the number, but I answer.  It’s my dentist.  He is personally calling to see how I feel and make sure that I’m okay.  I feel pretty good, but a little sore, which he says is to be expected.  I’m pleasantly surprised by the fact that he himself called to check on me.  Never before have I had a doctor do that and I wonder at it.  I wonder whether he is this personally attentive to all of his patients or if he finds me to be interesting in the same way that I do him. 

A few weeks later it’s time for my second treatment.  I arrive and his hygienist gets me set up in the chair.  He comes in and talks to me for a few minutes about how things are going.  I mention his call and tell him that I appreciated it, but he doesn’t say anything else about it - perhaps that’s his standard procedure.  In timely order, he puts my jaw to sleep and then he and his assistant get to work.

As I’m lying there, unable to go anywhere or talk, my mind starts to wander as I listen to the pair of them while they work on my jaw.  I can’t help but notice, again, that my dentist has a fabulous, inviting, masculine energy.  I wonder what it might be like to know him better. 

Things seems to be progressing apace, but as they’re finishing the filling, he suddenly seems jumpier.  He adjusts the bite surface of the tooth adroitly, but quickly, and for some reason he’s standing, in contrast to the fact that he has been sitting calmly the entire time up to now.  When he’s finished, I ask him a question and he answers hastily. 

As he makes for the door he tells me to call if I need anything and to have a good weekend.  I mention that I’m going out of town and he pauses at the door, turning to listen as someone would who doesn’t want to be rude.  I notice that his usually kept hair is tousled and he looks visibly flustered.  As soon as he politely can, he disappears around the door frame. 

‘How odd,’ I think.  ‘He is usually so composed and focused.’  This was more like an obvious rush to get away from me. 

His assistant is more relaxed and gives me a few instructions before he leaves the room.  At the front desk, there is a cup containing the first dose of medication waiting for me, but no other personal interaction except that which is customary with the receptionist.

My reverie about getting to know him better evaporates. 

I go home.  Later that evening I feel something run from behind my ear across my jaw.  I catch it.  A louse.  A full-size, mature, singular louse.  However, as we all know when you find one it’s a good bet there are more.  EWWWW!!!  I have gorgeous, full, long hair.  Unfortunately, if lice can get on my head, they love me.  I don’t love them. 

I had lice all of ONCE as a child.  I remember it distinctly.  I remember the head checks with the school nurse.  I remember how angry my mother was at me (because I must’ve gotten them intentionally).  I remember how she nearly scalded my skin off in the process of washing my hair with Nix.  It wasn’t until having my own children and putting them in day care that I got them again.  In the years of day care and elementary school I have no idea how many times we’ve had lice.  I could get on a soap box about how I think lice is a public health issue and that kids should be sent home from school for it.  It astounds me that they aren’t.

To reel it back in and get back to my story, a light went on as I was stripping all of our beds to wash sheets (during which I discovered two dead lice). 

My hot, sexy dentist was all curled up around my head with my hair laid out everywhere, wearing his magnifying lens glasses as he worked in my mouth – cozied right up alongside the critters I didn’t know were there. 

No wonder he lit out of the room.  Uhhhggggh.

The kicker?  I need to have the tooth adjusted, but I’m too embarrassed to call.  Eventually I’ll buck up and do it.

Dating ladies, I don’t usually compare single moms and women who don’t have children, but in this, you ladies that don’t have young kids take the prize.  The lushly-crowned, critter-free, silky prize.