I learn nothing from my past mistakes. There must be a word for people like me. A specific derogatory term for people-who-learn-nothing-from-their-past-mistakes. Not ‘nincompoop’; I already know that one.
So there I was with a mouthful of cavities and root canals, sitting in a dentist’s chair bargaining with God–again–to please let me off this time and I’ll floss twice daily from now on, when the dentist tells me I have finally reaped the fruit of all my midnight snacks and will have to undergo a horrifically painful dental surgery after which my father will probably disown me. Well, he did not say that in so many words but I can catch subtle nuances, you know. I ask him, with an ingratiating grin, whether that surgery will involve taking out my sweet tooth, which is the root of the problem anyway, no pun intended? At least, I thought the grin was ingratiating, but you couldn’t tell that from the bland look he gave me.
While he’s performing that awfully disgusting surgery, I misquote–paraphrase?–Ogden Nash to myself (one thing I hate more than any other, is sitting in a dentist’s chair with my mouth wide open [….] against hope hopen), and wonder whether the tooth fairy leaves something for adults who have their teeth taken out mechanically (no, according to wiki, since the fairytale only works for baby teeth), and if she leaves half a dollar for adults who leave half a tooth under their pillow (see previous explanation).
Even after an hour of the-torture-that-is-both-physical-and-mental I’m not contrite; although I promise to myself that I’ll give up unhealthy tooth-decaying eatables. And the first thing I do when I get back home? I drink half a litre of an aerated, teeth-destroying drink. Like I said, nincompoop or synonym thereof.
I don’t think the dentist took out my sweet tooth after all, because a day later I was having a sizzling chocolate brownie for dinner. Yes, I learn nothing from my past mistakes.
A note to my by now disgusted readers: I really don’t have that bad a sense of oral hygiene, and I still have all my real teeth. My experiences in the dentist’s surgery have been exaggerated–ranging from slightly to extremely–in this blog post. Well, except the part where the dentist gave me a bland look in answer to my beautiful, ingratiating smile.
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