There is one thing that I fear -- the dentist. This is due, in part, to the fact that I had six teeth extracted as a teenager because my palette was too small (it is the only thing on my body that is). And Dr. Bryzowski nearly stood on my chest to do anything from pulling to filling to even checking my teeth. He always smelled like garlic and old shoes. Needless to say, all other dentists have had to overcome his legacy.
Now, however, I have a great one, mind you, but I still don't like having hands in my mouth. Anyone's hands. It is a violation of my space, thank you. Even when John was a babe I wouldn't let him put his hands near my mouth. Ick.
After sitting in the chair for a while this afternoon, I am home, heating pad on my jaw. Did you know that you can't cry, type, and hold a heating pad at the same time?