teeth.

I just got back from my hygienist-student appointment. she was lovely. her name was Jessica and that is embroidered in cursive sewing in white thread on her bluebird-blue scrubs. She has short blonde hair that is only just long enough for a tiny pony tail. she wears diamond stud earrings, and has a silver diamond engagement ring and a small silver wedding ring. (I don't know how she fits the blue latex gloves over that diamond all the time without getting it caught. I never understand how women put on winter gloves or shampoo their hair with those rings. Maybe once you get engaged, you know how to do stuff like that.)

She is exactly how a hygienist should be. She has white perfect teeth and wears mascara so when I get tired of looking at the plasterboard ceiling and all its little dots and fault lines, i look at her eyes and the mascara. but it looks natural, like she has practiced at hygienist school to put on mascara, because she knows her patients are going to look at it.

she has to do a full set of x-rays. she makes it sound like it's for me, but really, i know it is for her to practice. she tapes little blue foamy things around the hard plastic film so when she puts them in my mouth the hard film won't cut my mouth, but she still says "sorry" almost every time she hurries back to take the film from my mouth. i have been clenching on it in hopes to get a good x-ray so she will feel good about herself. I always say, "it's okay." I eventually tell her I think she is quite gentle and she thanks me for this, she breathes out and relaxes and thanks me again.

I read "The Bell Jar" in the light blue recliner chair while my x-rays develop. I am now at the part where Sylvia Plath gets electro-shock therapy and it is getting sad. She is not in New York City anymore. She is at home, and can't sleep, or eat, or even read. I can't believe people ever gave people electro-shock therapy. I really can't. And please don't tell me if it is still happening, because I don't want to know. I want to think that it is some archaic and barbaric practice that we used to do but have grown out of, because technology has made things better.

Anyway, I get to see Jessica next week. Then she will start my cleaning and she said, "the appointment will run much smoother." "okay," I said. Maybe then Sylvia Plath will be at least in a better place, maybe with her friends drinking vodka cocktails or maybe at least, i hope, she can read by then. Maybe Jessica will ask about Sylvia next week if I am still reading it in the light blue recliner. (They didn't have magazines or music there, so I am glad I brought a book. I am finding it is an excellent habit to get into, Ms. Derrera was right, as usual.)