Enough About Me ...

I was having my teeth cleaned today, which, ordinarily is a straightforward experience. This day, however, I fell to the mercy of my hygienist and her ill attempt at conversation triggered by a little tooth prick which caused me pain. And I paraphrase: "I'm not trying to hurt you. So sorry. Not like my doctor. I have these plantar warts, you see. I go in every other week and he burns the plantar warts off with nitrate. The plantar warts then grow back and I have to keep getting the plantar warts removed." It was like she tried to stick the word "plantar wart" in every sentence. Then, when she had enough of that, she went on to tell me about the cluster of plantar warts that - and this is where the relevance comes in, I guess - when the doctor applies the nitrate to the single plantar wart, he usually gets it right on the spot. However with the cluster of plantar warts, well that's a bit tricky. Apparently he isn't as precise, thus missing the plantar wart cluster giving her a pus-ie blister which leads to pain which is what she inflicted upon me, but not on purpose which her doctor did inflict pain to her, but on purpose when he aimed for the clustered plantar warts and missed, resulting in said pus-ie blister for no reason.

I felt so defenseless, my mouth blocked by the teeth cleaning, totally unable to guide the conversation passed the plantar warts and on to other topics. Like, hey speaking of plantar warts, who do you think will make it to the top twelve tonight? (American Idol ref) Or plantar wart? That reminds me of this little planter I bought for this great tulip and daffodil center piece to be used for Easter with egg hunting and fuzzy, sweet pleasant things of abounding joy. I think it was the pus-ie blister that really began to gross me out. After exhausting the variations of her podiatral issues, thankfully we finally switched topic to her friends Jean and Joan. Apparently having friends with such close sounding names really sucks. She keeps wanting to call Jean, who is a man, Joan. And if that weren't enough, she'll call Joan, who is a woman, Jean, but that works out okay. If they were both woman, the issue may have been avoided. Having both genders represented really raised havoc with her ability to keep the names straight.

That tidbit lines up quite nicely with topics to initiate with your cab driver to avoid conversation. It's up there with "My cat eats dog food," "I bought this shirt on sale for ten dollars," and now "I have two friends name Jean and Joan." But, grrl, that hygienist can sure clean some teeth, so she's still my dog.

And as a side note, I can't for the life of me spell "pus-ie." Every time I try, it comes out pussy …. Which doesn't look right and I'm not brave enough to look up "pusy" on the web.