Mia and I went to the dentist today, and my the internal monologue accompanying my bi-annual re-acquaintance with my dentist went something like this:
- Damn, my dentist is sort of hot.
- No, my dentist is undeniably hot.
- Why didn't I remember that my dentist was hot?
- This is the sort of thing one would remember.
- I mean, he's been my dentist for a couple of years now.
- And yeah, definitely hot.
- How could I have missed this?
- (My dentist begins speaking.)
- Damn, my dentist is sort of annoying.
- No, my dentist is undeniably annoying.
- The annoying totally counteracts the hotness.
- My dentist is not hot.
Probably for the best anyway, as I suspect there is some sort of One Hot Medical Professional Per Person quota system, and I'd rather use mine on someone I see regularly, like, say, a pediatrician, maybe, instead of on someone I see just twice a year.
In other news, Chris sent me to have a massage on Monday (and then he cooked me dinner) (no, you can't have him), and the massage guy told me I was getting a "Swedish massage with peripherals." I was pretty shocked, really, as this was at a national chain spa and also it seemed out of character for Chris to arrange for me to get "peripherals" from some random dude, but then it turned out that it was really just a warm towel for my feet and crap like that. I suggested they be more specific in future, just to avoid this kind of confusion.
In the past week, Owen has learned how to turn doorknobs, remove "child-proof" plugs from outlets, and operate two separate kinds of cabinet locks. So when I'm not using him I just duct tape him to the couch. Works out very well.
Quick Quiz! Looking up property tax records for old boyfriends to see how much they paid for their houses is:
a) harmless curiosity
b) the sign of really needing a life
d) you can do that? Sorry, I gotta go.