judging professionals

And I'm not talking about Jurists.

Tuesday I had to go to the Dentist. I hate going to the dentist. I'm sure he's a very nice man and his hygenists are very nice people. But there is something about the dentist that just doesn't sit well with me. It's not the fact that they spend their lives poking around in people's mouths, which is pretty icky, but more the fact that they are constantly judging your oral hygeine and criticizing it when it is their job (and they are being pretty well paid) to clean your teeth and detect any problems.

I had financial issues, no insurance and had not been to the dentist in 10 years. I decided that it was more important to pay my rent, pay my taxes, eat and generally pay my cost of living than it was to go into even bigger debt just so someone could tell me I needed to spend more money on my teeth. After the BC and I had been living together for a year, I qualified for benefits under his insurance plan as the common-law spouse. Great. I go to the dentist and get THREE referrals, to the oral surgeon (for my wisdom teeth, which was needed and I do not begrudge), to the periodontist (who is suspiciously now married to said dentist) because I have receeding gums and to an orthodontis (who was invited to said dental/periodontal nuptials). I am not getting braces, they did enough to ruin my teenage years, and I am not having gum surgery. However, everytime I am at the dentist the topic comes up, and my emphatic "NO" with the implied *frickin' way ever, shut up and do your job* doesn't seem to be getting through.

Also, they have no idea what they're talking about; for kicks this time I decided to say that I had upped my flossing regimen from never to a couple of times a week. They praised me and said they could see a difference. Jackasses.

My other favourite judging professional (also not a jurist) is my pharmacist. Any time I pick up a prescription he looks it over, shakes his heads, gives me a pitying glance and hands it over. There is no need for that. He doesn't need to smile, I'd be happy with a neutral expression or even a "have a nice day." But no, he has to shake his head and look disapproving. I would change pharmacies but there isn't another one as convenient. (damn lazy self!)

the fabulous fall cold

I have been inactive this week, literally. I developed a sore throat on Monday night that by Wednesday had developed into a serious head cold, with a side order of laryngitis. As with many things that you abhored as a child, this policy of my mother has stuck with me for some reason: "Too sick to go to school/work; Too sick for TV." Fortunately, I'm very rarely too sick to read. As luck or fate would have it, I had just made a book run on the weekend and was well stocked. I have been alternating between The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova, which is pretty hefty and a little scary and Under the Duvet by Marian Keyes, which is not scary but funny and poignant.

In under the Duvet Ms. Keyes describes how to know if you're an "Imelda," i.e. a person who values shoes above most things. I am cribbing her below and letting you know just how deep my own problem with footwear actually is ...

- I have bought shoes and never worn them because I didn't want to damage them. I have also bought shoes and never worn them because they were really painful, but so pretty on my feet as long as I didn't stand up.
- I am known to structure my day around the shoes I will be wearing. Especially if I am going out.
- I have spent more on shoes than I would on a holiday. I have bought shoes instead of groceries. I have spent more on shoes than my rent.
- I have been hurt by my shoes and I never blame the shoe.
- I do not loan my shoes to other people. They are my babies. Fortunately I am the proud owner of freakishly small feet, so this isn't really an issue.

Must run and meet the husband for dinner. He's been at a closing party for some deal, maybe he'll be in a really good mood and happy to discuss my new current obsession: Handbags.

the amazing disappearing contact lens

So my sister's wedding was this past weekend and it was beautiful and perfect and exactly as I had hoped it would be for her and her new husband.

And just so the evening wasn't without a little drama this is what happened:

Around 8:30 or 9:00 I blinked and noticed that there was an issue with my vision in my left eye. Not quite sure what was going on I decided to go to the washroom and see if I could see anything. Couldn't. Unsure as to whether my contact had fallen out or whether it had disappeared into the unreachable regions of my eye, I decided that it would be best to remove the one contact I was sure was in my eye and resume wearing my glasses.

(Small sidebar on my spectacles: I love wearing my glasses. Not only can I see properly and without blur, but they don't involve sticking my finger into my eye to put in and remove the contact lens. I am a random contact wearer, in fact the last time I wore them was for my own wedding)

Unfortunately my glasses were in the trunk of our rental car at the B&B where we were staying. Since I was effectively blind and it was dark, my gallant husband hoofed it there and back, returning with my beloved spectacles.
I tried to put the matter out of my mind and resumed having a lovely time (luckily I found that the bartender loves martinis as much as I do!). Got up the next morning, my eyes were pretty red (beyond hangover red, more like bleeding into the brain red), especially the left, but I just assumed that was from my trying to remove the contact that wasn't there. As I felt nothing, I assumed that it had fallen out and put it from my mind. We arrived home after our four hour drive, my portion of which was the 401 from Belleville to home. Came in, walked up the stairs, felt something in my eye, blinked hard a couple of times and looked in the mirror. There was my contact, all folded up on itself nicely in thirds just hanging out in my eye. BLECH, GROSS, YUCK. I removed it, and promptly made a pact with myself to A) be thankful it wasn't in my brain and B) NEVER wear those damned little lenses again.

BTW the shoes looked awesome with my dress and were very suited to the impromptu rock climbing we did to arrive at the picture location - many thanks to the groomsmen who helped the bridesmaids navigate the rocks after the husbands abandoned us for warmer surroundings!

life's too short ...

Yesterday as I was crossing the street. I waited for lights, started to cross, the SUV that should have been waiting decided to gun the engine and move forward. He stopped and when I gave him the "hello, I'm walking here" arm and shoulder shrug he leaned out his window and shouted "Life's too short, Hon."

Seriously. What does he mean by that? Life's too short for him to obey the traffic laws? Life's too short for me to be upset about a possible fatal introduction between his SUV and my body? Life's too short for him to have a passing thought about the nameless persons he almost injures every day?

I know exactly how short life can be. I spent my 19th birthday recovering from near-fatal internal injuries obtained after an encounter with a vehicle very similar to your big manly SUV. I am very aware of how short and precious life is, so go figure, I get upset when someone blatently disregards and disrespects my existence.