I spent 4 hours at the dentist yesterday . . . no, I don't have really rotten teeth, but rather I was being a guinea pig for my little brother Scotty (Yep, Scotty Portable Potty is all grown up) who's in his last year of dental school.
The appointment reminded me a lot of being with my brother-in-law, Ryan, during his UOP days which went a little like this:
Ryan: Tara, you should do your masters degree with UOP. Here, sign this for information.
Tara: Okay [sign, sign, sign]
---Next Day---
Ryan: Congrats Tara, you are now in the Master's program! You start tomorrow. Your professors will have names like Princess. It will cost you 80 billion dollars and your first child, who we will rename Bianca.
Tara: What the . . . ?!?
(Okay, maybe that was a little dramatic, but I have a UOP masters certificate tucked in a drawer somewhere and a monthly loan payment that proves my UOP signage got me more than just a little info . . . and Ryan does call Lainey Bianca every so often.)
The appointment with Scotty went a little like this . . .
21 bite wing x-rays
1 panoramic x-ray
2 impressions (top and bottom . . . that stuff is GROSS!)
3 dental professionals checking out my chops and signing my bro's chart
1000's of oohs and aahs over a baby tooth that this 33 year old's mouth has held onto . . . even capped in gold.
After signing about 15 things (not sure what any of them were, but Scotty assured me they were all legit) he let me go . . . but not without commitment patterning me into an extraction (he tells me he can just pop that baby tooth out no problem . . . I'm hoping for some sedation?!) and an implant (and possibly my second born whom he will call "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAdria" and poke with a pool cue if she's in trouble.) Oh, yeah, and 27 trillion dollars.
All in all, here's the monetary damage, MasterCard style
Master's Degree: 80 billion dollars
Extraction/Implant: 27 trillion dollars
Brothers who watch out for me by making it possible for me to extend my education and continue being able to chew food: Priceless
Thanks Uncle Ry-Ry and Portable . . . I love you guys!
The appointment reminded me a lot of being with my brother-in-law, Ryan, during his UOP days which went a little like this:
Ryan: Tara, you should do your masters degree with UOP. Here, sign this for information.
Tara: Okay [sign, sign, sign]
---Next Day---
Ryan: Congrats Tara, you are now in the Master's program! You start tomorrow. Your professors will have names like Princess. It will cost you 80 billion dollars and your first child, who we will rename Bianca.
Tara: What the . . . ?!?
(Okay, maybe that was a little dramatic, but I have a UOP masters certificate tucked in a drawer somewhere and a monthly loan payment that proves my UOP signage got me more than just a little info . . . and Ryan does call Lainey Bianca every so often.)
The appointment with Scotty went a little like this . . .
21 bite wing x-rays
1 panoramic x-ray
2 impressions (top and bottom . . . that stuff is GROSS!)
3 dental professionals checking out my chops and signing my bro's chart
1000's of oohs and aahs over a baby tooth that this 33 year old's mouth has held onto . . . even capped in gold.
After signing about 15 things (not sure what any of them were, but Scotty assured me they were all legit) he let me go . . . but not without commitment patterning me into an extraction (he tells me he can just pop that baby tooth out no problem . . . I'm hoping for some sedation?!) and an implant (and possibly my second born whom he will call "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAdria" and poke with a pool cue if she's in trouble.) Oh, yeah, and 27 trillion dollars.
All in all, here's the monetary damage, MasterCard style
Master's Degree: 80 billion dollars
Extraction/Implant: 27 trillion dollars
Brothers who watch out for me by making it possible for me to extend my education and continue being able to chew food: Priceless
Thanks Uncle Ry-Ry and Portable . . . I love you guys!
1 comment:
I don't quite remember the enrollment process the way you did, Tara, but I really enjoyed your version of it! Are you sure it wasn't something that happened at Girls Camp? I love you, too.
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