Wednesday, January 28, 2009

It feels like years since you've been here.

Dear the sun,

Hey, how are you? More importantly, where are you?

We all miss you. No one even makes eye contact walking down the sidewalk. We stare at our boots and hide in our scarves.

Right now it feels like you've never been here, like we've lived like this forever, like nothing will ever change. Things have lost their warmth and color.

I know I've gotten upset at you before for coming on too strong, even for burning me, but all that's behind us now. Forgive me for complaining? I want you to come back. I miss you.

Love and tearcicles,

Monday, January 19, 2009

The Male and the Floss

Dentists don't bother me. Dental hygienists make me nervous.

My old dentist retired, so I had to go to a new dentist over Christmas. This meant a new dental hygienist. I was used to the hygienist who asked me open-ended questions, usually about Harry Potter, and then stuck her hands in my mouth before I could answer.

The new dental hygienist's tactics are rather different.

"You don't floss enough. You know, not flossing has been linked to prostate cancer."

If her hands hadn't been in my mouth, I would have explained to her that I've already taken measures to prevent getting prostate cancer. Namely, I don't have a prostate.

To be sure, I have done extensive research. My findings report that people with prostates don't cry in the candy aisle at Walgreens because they're overwhelmed by the selection and can't decide what kind of chocolate they want.* I am officially disqualified.

*Thankfully, I have a boyfriend who is tolerant of this, and who surprised me with a back-up Reeses in case I changed my mind about the M&M's.