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May 11, 2009
He isn't a hip-huggered, wavy-haired, gleaming-toothed Adonis like Marcia Brady's, but my dentist has his own "way". He cracks a crooked-tooth grin with every frequent spit of wit, not even flinching when I call him "buddy boy" instead of "Doctor".

I close my eyes when his fingers enter my mouth. Surely if I keep them open, he'll know I'm entertaining thoughts of opening wide that have nothing to do with dentistry.

Do I really think he's flirting with me, when the extreme close-up of the tooth that's the subject of today's visit is displayed on the monitor beside him? Apparently.