What Do Dental Scrubs and the Little Shop of Horrors Have in Common?

With special thanks to Travis B. for this entertaining Guest blog.....

Let me start off by telling you, dear readers, that I am scared of going to the dentist. And by scared, I mean I have nightmares about Steve Martin from the Little Shop of Horrors movie, where every time he talks, what comes out of his mouth are not words, but the screech of drills. Angry drills. Big angry drills designed for nothing but the torture of the innocent.

When I went in a few years ago to get my wisdom teeth taken out, I was asked to either take the knock-out gas (or what I like to call the breath of god), or leave with my teeth intact and an indefinite ban from the premises.

Apparently I made what they were calling "cacophonous womanly screams", or what I thought was more accurately deemed "polite oral protests of justified terror". I took the gas.

So, I went in for my every-other-annual cleaning last week. (They give me a discount, as long as I promise not to come in any more often.) As usual for my cleaning, I had signed my waiver for the gas. I was laid back in the chair of fear, sweating profusely, feet and hands twitching, eyes either shifting rapidly back and forth or staring at the lovely sofa size posters of gum disease and worst-case-scenario plaque buildup. You know, calm and composed.

I'm waiting for the lady to administer the gas (to this day, I have no idea what my dentist actually looks like), when in waddles this pregnant woman, which for the purposes of this blog, we'll call Margot, the bringer of serenity. Or just Margot. Yeah, so Margot's pregnant. Really pregnant. To the point where watching her walk around is like seeing a new driver try to back a tractor trailer through road cones. Tiny road cones. With camouflage. What I mean to say is, I think the baby's driving. Perhaps we'll forget that analogy, shall we? Yes, let's shall.

Margot comes in pushing the gas trolley with her belly. In an attempt to show her how calm and well behaved I am, I ask where she gets her scrubs. (My mom sells scrubs; even to dentists, who, in my opinion, don't deserve such fine clothing.)

Margot tells me she got them from Sassy Scrubs, online; which totally ruins my chances at a new customer referral commission. She tells me that the fabric is called "Smile!", and asks if I like it. The print is of thousands of happy teeth brushing or flossing themselves, acting as if anthropomorphic disembodied bits of a hundred hockey players wasn't strange in the slightest. I told her, yes, it was very pretty. Pregnant ladies are hormonally on the edge and I didn't want to risk a gas "mishap" by offending her.

In bittersweet fashion, the teeth and the gas come closer. The mask goes around my head and I hear the heavenly hiss of nitrous. To accomplish this, Margot has to rest her gigantic baby belly on my chest. I start to wonder if the gas will work if the weight makes it impossible to breathe. To my horror, the teeth start bulging outward against me in pulses, and Margot apologizes for her twins' kicking. Twins! Twice the kicking! Twice the pulsing happy teeth!

Luckily, the gas takes effect, the phantom dentist comes in and does his evil business under cover of darkness, and I'm done and in the lobby, scheduling my next frightful visit. The nice thing about scheduling appointments two years in advance is that I get to pick whatever time I want. Cold comfort maybe, but I'll take what I can get. You know me, I'm an optimist.

Remind me to send a note congratulating Margot on the birth of her two Ninjas.



Thanks to Travis B. for his hilarious guest blog. Luckily, I grew up with a terrific dentist - Dr. Henry Fox - who rarely used gas or novocaine and rarely needed to, along with the special treat of a great plastic toy from the "toy bowl" at the end of each visit. To this day, I love going to the dentist. What I can't stand however, is getting my tires rotated. The hideous smell of all that greasy black rubber and the screams of the pneumatic drills and squealing metal sends me right back out the door, arms flailing, heart pounding and knees pumping.

So, scrubs wearer - what is it that gets to you? Add a comment below, or send us your own guest blog! Sassy

To see our Famous Sassy Scrubs Dental Prints, click here.
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