I’m sitting in the waiting room at the dentist. The appointment is for my youngest kiddo. Just a checkup. No big deal.

The dentist has always given me major anxiety. I recall being around the same age as my kiddo, 11 years old, absolutely terrified of the inevitable drilling. My teeth were always in need of repairing. My panic would peak right before I sat down in the monstrosity that was the dentist chair. By the time the dentist would take a look I’d be shaking uncontrollably. I look at my kiddo now, he’s sitting there, kicking his feet, without a care in the world. Lucky little shit. To not freak out over the most ridiculous things must be fantastic. But people without anxiety, I think, take for granted that their minds don’t run a million miles per minute over everything that could possibly go wrong during something so routine as a fucking dentist checkup.

Time draws near. Only another minute until the unsuspecting kiddo, without a care, gets into that gigantic chair to be poked in the gums and told to start flossing. No big deal.

While I may be in a negative mood I must admit that I am relieved I haven’t passed on this ridiculous fucking anxiety.