Yeah. That’s not mine. I took it from Sex in The City. God! I miss that show. It was the episode when Carrie was mad at Mr. Big because he didn’t say I love you back, after she said it. She deflected and started yelling at him about his cigars and how she didn’t like their smell. I do that. Not the cigar part, but the bitching, the nit-picking. We all do.

Everyone at some point has aging parents. It’s challenging. You feel lost, angry, frustrated, out numbered, humor is your drug, confusion, yearning for the loss parent from your youth. You want to be with them all the time, especially if you’re a mommy or daddy’s girl. I am the first one.

I absolutely love my mum. Not a day goes by when I don’t think about how she yelled at me to make two bunny ears while learning to tie my shoes. I can still hear her. “Okay now, make two bunny ears,  pull the loops through quicker..good girl”.  She’s always been there.

Support, pushing me on, love…so now I need to be there. When one can’t control the mind, one tends to take it out on others.

Lately the man has been getting the brunt of it. He shouldn’t. He hasn’t done anything. He’s amazing, caring, kind, patient and funny. So sorry.

It’s not about the cigar. It’s about me not having control.

So I am hopefully having a root canal in thirty minutes. Remember the days, when you would go to the dentist, lay down in the chair and your dentist would have a picture or poster of a sweet labrador puppy or a kitten hanging over you in the chair, I do. Those were good times. You’d see that big shit coming a mile away. Smile to yourself and know all was well. But then, you’d look up and think about those sweet critters and feel even more warm and fuzzy inside. Your dentist loved kids and after every appointment. Dr. D would hand you a small clear bag with a red toothbrush and a trail size of Aim toothpaste in it. If he really liked you, you got a sticker.

And if you were really good he’d let you go over to the treasure chest and pull out a toy. I was always exceptionally good. I would try to scope the chest out on my way into the chair. It was always shut but I WOULD manage to sneak it open and check. I always either went for the jack set with a red rubber ball or a sling shot. This was good shit folks, to a seven-year old! Score! But when we’re adults. We go in to see Dr. K. a very funny, handsome Korean guy who lets you clutch tightly a purple unicorn to feel special. Word has it big burly guys have clutched it as well. He kept saying what ever happens here, stays in here.

Seven shots later. I was done. Sore. Sad. No kittens. But that purple unicorn, “Eunice” was pretty fucking special.

So… I am NOT an anti-dentite.