Smith Family Weblog

I have a longstanding distaste for the dentist. I have hated going since I was very young–and once semi-annual check-ups became my responsibility, they became far less frequent.

As an adult–who is trying (at least on occasion) to set a good example for her children–I am going in every six months. I’ve found a hygienist that I like, and the dentist is quite nice, too.

At my last appointment, they discovered that a filling I’ve had since junior high was cracked and needed to be replaced. I have pretty strong memories of obtaining that actual filling–and it was not fun. After they assured me that it really did need to be fixed before it caused problems, I relented.

I arrived at my appointment this morning to find a heated chair, flat TV screen and wireless headphones. Not bad.

Then, the hygienist asked if I’d like nitrous. I’ve never had it before, but I will tell you this now: If you are ever posed this question, the answer should be an emphatic YES.

It’s not without side effects, though, as I found myself in several exchanges like this:

Dentist: You’re doing great. The hardest part is holding your mouth open so wide for so long.

Me: Well, I work out. (Laughs hysterically.)

I’m pretty sure they shut it off when I declared myself a “big fan” and asked if I could take the tank home with me. Since that won’t work, I’m going to cut down on my brushing a bit so I can spend another morning with Dr. Justin.

Now that I’m back off the wagon, I’m enjoying a couple of glasses of wine a few times a week. Usually, a bottle is more than enough for the two of us, but there are those nights where one more glass would be nice, but it seems wasteful–and kind of expensive–to open another bottle.

Enter the boxed wine.

We picked up our first last week, thinking it would be nice to pour a single glass without uncorking an entire bottle. It is far less expensive than bottled wine, and it keeps for six weeks.

That is, of course, if you don’t drain it within a matter of days.

The good thing about a bottle is that there’s an end–and it’s only four glasses. A box, on the other hand, that goes on and on and on. And portion control has never been my strong suit.

So, the other night, I found myself tipping the box to get to the last little bit of wine. When that didn’t work, I ripped out the bag and funneled the wine down to the spout.

Bry, watching from the other side of the counter said, “I bet you could get more out if you clipped the corner.”

This seems like a slippery slope.