Here's Spit in your Eye!

Today was my bi-yearly dental check-up and cleaning and I had my husband go in a little late to work so he could get my son on the bus and so that I did not have to worry who would watch my toddler-on-the-run while I was getting buffed and polished. (Gosh, that sounds kind of dirty now that I read it.)

So, I showed up just before 8 a.m. at the well-oiled machine that is my dentist's office. I must say, I am in love with this place. The office staff is courteous and quick, the office is no-frills but pleasant, and I've never had a long wait. The dentist is female and very personable, and her office is very high-tech/cutting edge compared to my last dentist. And, both she and her hygienist won big fat chocolate brownie points from me today because both separately commented on my weight loss right when they first saw me. (Nice way to start the day, eh?)

Do you remember how getting dental x-rays used to be? Folding some awkward piece of plastic with film in it into the darkest corner of your mouth, holding it there as the corner pokes into your gum painfully. And your eyes began to water and your mind screams out, "Take the shot, damn it! TAKE IT!" Then, you'd only had to do that about 10 more times for them to get every angle.

Well, now it is all digitized and computerized. You use the same film strip for every shot, which is now a nice soft and unobtrusive thing. As they take the shot of your teeth, it pops up on the computer monitor where you can see your choppers on display in all their glory. The hygienist, who I like very much and really reminds me of a non-skanky Jenny McCarthy, then pages the dentist via email to let her know she's almost ready for her inspection. It's so impressive! (I should admit here that I've always had a fascination with dental offices. Maybe I should have been a dentist.)

So, after the x-rays, "Non-Trash Jenny" was cleaning my teeth and chattering about her toddler hating strollers. It was one of those strange moments when you wonder if the hygienist wants you to comment back and then you wonder if you can even do that with this sharp object in your mouth scraping away at your teeth and that scary spit sucker hovering ready to attack you.

So, I started to say something and then didn't. And, what happened next was quite embarrassing. When my tongue pulled back, something went awry in my mouth and...well, I'll just admit it...I "gleeked" on my hygienist.

Do you know or remember "gleeking" from your school days? It's something the middle school boys used to do to gross out the girls. Somehow you get spit trapped underneath your tongue and in one quick motion you jut out your jaw and out squirts spit, like you were some sort of bath toy. My neighborhood pal Jay used to gleek better than anyone I knew. Somehow, he mastered the art of this to the point that he had a stream of water coming from his mouth that could shoot probably four feet away! The kid could hit anyone and he never seemed to run out of spit! (Jay, later became the master of painting heavy metal logos on his bedroom walls and, I suspect, smoking weed like it was going out of style.)

Back in my middle school days, Jay and a few other guy friends tried to teach me how to gleek on several occasions. Nope, even if I wanted to shoot spit in someone's eye, I couldn't do it somehow. I was deficient in 'da gleekin' skills. And, here I was, a 35-year-old mom, randomly shooting spit in my hygienists face! I was mortified. Non-Trash Jenny just ignored it and kept moving. So, I started wondering how many times this must have happened to her. Maybe in her line of work, this is just a part of the job? Like a chef getting food on her shirt or a hairdresser having someone else's hair on her shoes? So, in the grand scheme of dental work, maybe this wasn't so horrible. Surely, being gleeked upon has to be better than cleaning the teeth of some old guy with dragon breath who hasn't brushed his teeth since the last cleaning, right?

Still semi-embarrassed, I took my token toothbrush and floss, thanked her and wished her well. Now, I'm wondering if I should practice this new-found gleeking thing again. I'm thinking it would come in handy the next time I need my toddler to stop running for the street or when my six-year-old smarts off to me.

And, hey, I might even become the coolest mom on the block once word gets around the six-year-old boy circuit.

"You know Wildcat's Mom? She is SO COOL. She can shoot spit out of her mouth and hit you right between the eyes!"

"DUDE....awesome! Let's go play at his house again today!"