I loathe the dentist. And that's actually putting it nicely. To me, if given the choice of having dental work done and poking my eyes out with toothpicks - I'd most likely opt for the toothpicks. Seriously. I hate it that bad. Josh tried to cheer my spirits this morning by reminding me of all the surgeries I've had, the fact that I've birthed three children (one without an epidural, thank you very much), and that I'm tough enough to endure daily life with the likes of him.
It didn't cheer me up. All of that pales in comparison to the endurance I need to face the dental drill. It's like nails on a chalkboard for two solid hours. Awful. Ugly.
So now I'm numb from my eyeballs to my neck, I have been deprived of my favorite hobby (eating), and I can't tell that I've got drool running down my lips. I am quite the picture of loveliness. Hannah summed it up ever-so-tactfully when she said, "You don't look berry good. What did you do to your face?" She finds it quite comical and keeps coming in to say, "Show me your smile again." Then she shrieks with laughter and runs off giggling.
I am so eating all her good Easter candy this weekend. That is, providing the feeling in my face returns by then.