"I can't eat that popcorn." [said popcorn was Drizzled Cinnamon Sugar Kettlecorn]
"Why?" Janine asked. "It's too sweet. I can't chew it with the right side of my mouth because it hits my tooth and sends chills down my spine." Charles laughed, "You need to go to the dentist." I didn't even hesitate when I said no. "Oh, you will." Charles continued. "I don't think so. I'm not 7." I protested. "We'll just have them put you in a straight jacket like they did that time you were 3." Janine said.
From an early age, I've hated doctors. I also hate pain. When I was 11, I went to get a shot and it took 4 people to hold down each of my flailing limbs while the 5th injected me. I digress, but it's important to understand that before I tell you this.
The dentist was Dr. Santoro and according to Janine, I used to LOVE going to him because he had toys everywhere (this was obviously a clever ploy on his part). Prior to my appointment, my parents told him that I didn't like the dentist so he gave them a drug to give to me in an effort to make it easier on all parties involved. On the way there, I was woozy, drooling, and lolling my head from side to side; think David after the Dentist. However, as soon as they arrived, I shot straight up and it was as if they gave me nothing. I guess I was SO incorrigible, Dr. Santoro PUT ME IN A STRAIGHT JACKET. I said, "Why didn't they just give me the gas?!" Janine told me they did. So, recap, I was drugged, gassed, and put into a straight jacket when I was 3 years old by a maniac. It's not like I'm a rhino; those measures were unnecessary. Is the reason I don't remember this story because I was so young or because I blocked it from my memory? I don't know, but thanks for traumatizing me at an early age, Janine & Charles! This is the sort of way you'd handle a Chucky doll; not me. It's no wonder I hate doctors. I think my tooth feels FINE now that I think about it.I used a nib and ink to do this! Click to enlarge!