I love candy. I really love it. And not fancy chocolates from exotic places or weird concoctions people discover on vacation. I love plain old grocery store checkout candy--Skittles, Gobstoppers, Twix, Airheads, KitKat. Apparently I am a 9 year old in disguise.
The consequence of this love (and living without health insurance for most of life, until I was old enough and gainfully employed enough to pay for my own) is that I have had, over the last few years, quite a few cavities. And yesterday I had an emergency root canal because in the middle of getting a cavity filled everything went wrong.
And here is what this post is really about--the endodontist I went to for the root canal was super nice and cute and friendly. And when I interrupted his explanation of what was about to happen to ask if there would be nitrous involved, he offered me instead two tiny glorious blue pills. He good-naturedly listened to me babble about how bright and shiny and space-agey his office is. And he was dutifully impressed that I am a college professor. As root canals go, it was terribly pleasant experience (though, truth be told, those blue pills mean that I remember very little of it).