Dear Aunt Slugger,
I am supposed to go the dentist for a routine cleaning soon, and I understand that you had your teeth cleaned recently. Do you have any tips or suggestions?
Lars from Winston-Salem
Dear Lars,
Well, Lars, I'd like to tell you that it'll be all right. I'd like to tell you not to worry. I'd like to tell you not to lose sleep over it. Yes, Lars, I'd LIKE to tell you all of that, but Aunt Slugger doesn't believe in sugarcoating the truth. It's going to be awful, Lars, and if you have any sort of suicidal tendencies, you may want to pre-medicate.
The first thing you need to know is that brushing three times a day and flossing after you eat a bean burrito from Qdoba is no longer considered proper dental hygiene. And if you use a manual toothbrush, you may as well have someone take a baseball bat to your teeth and just ask for a whole new set when you get to the dentist.
Up until recently, your Aunt Slugger fancied herself something of a model of good oral hygiene. She brushes three times a day, rinses with mouthwash, and flosses occasionally. She has had only one cavity in more than three decades of life, and has never had to wear braces. While she acknowledges her flossing shortcomings, she doesn't necessarily think of herself as a terrible person and until recently did not experience white-knuckled terror at the dentist's office.
WELL. Readers, if you find yourself in Aunt Slugger's camp, you need to know that you are, in the mind of your dental hygienist, a hardened serial killer. It turns out that proper dental hygiene consists of brushing with an electric toothbrush, flossing, rinsing with Listerine, rinsing with anticavity mouthwash, and (get ready for this one) MASSAGING YOUR GUMS. You can imagine how much of an epic asshole your Aunt Slugger felt like when she had to admit that not only is her flossing sporadic, but she also doesn't get around to massaging her gums very often (i.e. never).
So given that engaging in modern dental hygiene would effectively take up about 95% of the average person's day, and given that most people have other obligations - like working, taking care of family members, and sitting on the couch with a bucket of fried chicken while watching Lifetime movies - you might think that your dental hygienist would be used to hearing people say that they don't necessarily find the time to light some candles and massage their gums for twenty minutes. You might also think that your dental hygienist would look at you and say, "You're a grown adult with a full-time job, and while I'd love for you to make time to give your mouth a spa treatment, I understand if you cannot."
And you would be wrong. Your Aunt Slugger was forced to PROVE TO HER DENTAL HYGIENIST THAT SHE KNOWS HOW TO FLOSS AND MASSAGE HER GUMS. She was also told that there is "no excuse for not flossing," which is actually false, because the excuse "I forgot" is more than sufficient.
But being interrogated by the East German Secret Police is not the only thing you have to worry about, Lars. You should also prepare yourself for the "Ultrasonic." After her bug-eyed hygienist made your Aunt Slugger feel like a complete dickhead, she used a high-powered device that operates a bit like a miniature fire hose to allegedly remove Aunt Slugger's plaque (of which there was reportedly a minimal amount, FYI, but this did NOT mean that Aunt Slugger was congratulated for her efforts - she was again reminded of the fact that she should be beaten to death for having small amounts of plaque on her back molars). Aunt Slugger also had to hold the suction thing (presumably because the hygienist's other hand was busy giving Aunt Slugger the middle finger for not flossing regularly), which didn't work, because most of the water from the Ultrasonic splashed onto her face instead of onto her teeth. Let us just say that it would not surprise Aunt Slugger if the Ultrasonic is also marketed as a waterboarding tool.
So there you have it, Lars. Be prepared to say goodbye to your happy childhood memories of receiving a rhubarb fluoride treatment and a smiling tooth sticker from your cheerful neighborhood dentist. Times have changed, Lars. In fact, as we speak, your dentist is probably interviewing former Gitmo interrogators to be your dental hygienist. I wish you all the best, Lars, but you may want to wish your loved ones farewell before you go get those teeth cleaned.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
Answering life's deepest questions
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Holidays with the Family
Dear Aunt Slugger,
What is the best way to survive a holiday meal at your spouse's crazy grandparents' house?
Sincerely,
Pass the Scotch For My Sanity
Readers, the holiday season is upon us! For many of us, this means tons of great opportunities to interact with our beloved family members and add more scars to our livers.
PTSFMS, I am sorry I didn't get to this question in time for Thanksgiving. Assuming you aren't hooked up to a ventilator somewhere after trying to impale yourself repeatedly with a meat thermometer, I hope this advice will at least come in handy for the Christmas season.
In order to properly answer this question, it's important to ascertain exactly how crazy your grandparents-in-law are. On a scale of 1-10, with 1 being "they let the cat eat fresh Atlantic salmon at the dining room table," 5 being "there are puddles of urine on the stairs," and 10 being "you aren't sure whether this is a honey-glazed ham or a human thigh," exactly how crazy are we talking here?
For grandparents that register anywhere between a 1 and 4, you are probably fine to rely exclusively on your scotch, though I still recommend a single malt Lowland scotch, served directly out of the bottle. You're also going to want to maintain a cranberry sauce to scotch ratio (CSSR) of 1:12.
In-laws that clock in between a 5 and 8 require more advance preparation. In the days leading up to your visit, you should develop a debilitating addiction to valium or xanax. On the day of the visit, you should pre-medicate by telling your local animal control officer that there is a bear in your backyard, and then stepping in front of the tranquilizer gun at just the right moment. (This may take several tries.) You will also want to wear waterproof hunting boots, and you should only eat foods whose pedigree can be established with certainty (i.e. you opened the can of Beanee Weenies yourself). Your CSSR should be 1:24.
When dealing with relatives that score a 9 or 10 on the scale, you should maintain complete control of your faculties (which unfortunately means no scotch, but feel free to soak up as many shirley temples as you can). Citing allergies to gluten, egg, legumes, turkey, dairy, nuts, and water, you should bring your own food. And if your relatives leave the room, listen through the wall for the words "It puts the lotion in the bucket."
But the best way to survive a holiday meal at your in-laws' house? Don't go. Become a Scientologist, shun your extended relatives, and enjoy some peace and damn quiet with a Hungryman dinner in front of the TV.
Best of luck to you.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
What is the best way to survive a holiday meal at your spouse's crazy grandparents' house?
Sincerely,
Pass the Scotch For My Sanity
Readers, the holiday season is upon us! For many of us, this means tons of great opportunities to interact with our beloved family members and add more scars to our livers.
PTSFMS, I am sorry I didn't get to this question in time for Thanksgiving. Assuming you aren't hooked up to a ventilator somewhere after trying to impale yourself repeatedly with a meat thermometer, I hope this advice will at least come in handy for the Christmas season.
In order to properly answer this question, it's important to ascertain exactly how crazy your grandparents-in-law are. On a scale of 1-10, with 1 being "they let the cat eat fresh Atlantic salmon at the dining room table," 5 being "there are puddles of urine on the stairs," and 10 being "you aren't sure whether this is a honey-glazed ham or a human thigh," exactly how crazy are we talking here?
For grandparents that register anywhere between a 1 and 4, you are probably fine to rely exclusively on your scotch, though I still recommend a single malt Lowland scotch, served directly out of the bottle. You're also going to want to maintain a cranberry sauce to scotch ratio (CSSR) of 1:12.
In-laws that clock in between a 5 and 8 require more advance preparation. In the days leading up to your visit, you should develop a debilitating addiction to valium or xanax. On the day of the visit, you should pre-medicate by telling your local animal control officer that there is a bear in your backyard, and then stepping in front of the tranquilizer gun at just the right moment. (This may take several tries.) You will also want to wear waterproof hunting boots, and you should only eat foods whose pedigree can be established with certainty (i.e. you opened the can of Beanee Weenies yourself). Your CSSR should be 1:24.
When dealing with relatives that score a 9 or 10 on the scale, you should maintain complete control of your faculties (which unfortunately means no scotch, but feel free to soak up as many shirley temples as you can). Citing allergies to gluten, egg, legumes, turkey, dairy, nuts, and water, you should bring your own food. And if your relatives leave the room, listen through the wall for the words "It puts the lotion in the bucket."
But the best way to survive a holiday meal at your in-laws' house? Don't go. Become a Scientologist, shun your extended relatives, and enjoy some peace and damn quiet with a Hungryman dinner in front of the TV.
Best of luck to you.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
Office Dress Codes
Dear Aunt Slugger,
As you know, most offices have some sort of dress code policy. While perusing my office's dress code, I noticed that it addressed short skirts, flip flops, and jeans, but I did not find anything in the policy regarding tight fitting shirts. Is there a polite way to tell someone that his or her shirt is so tight that I am concerned that the buttons may pop off and land in my eye? Also, please confirm whether there is a law against neon-colored shirts in an office environment.
As you know, most offices have some sort of dress code policy. While perusing my office's dress code, I noticed that it addressed short skirts, flip flops, and jeans, but I did not find anything in the policy regarding tight fitting shirts. Is there a polite way to tell someone that his or her shirt is so tight that I am concerned that the buttons may pop off and land in my eye? Also, please confirm whether there is a law against neon-colored shirts in an office environment.
Sincerely,
Go Celtics!
Dear Larry Byrd:
First of all, I'd like to thank you for addressing this matter, because we certainly can't rely on our elected officials to deal with this. While they were sending 30,000 more troops to Afghanistan this week, the rest of us were wondering when someone will send 30,000 troops stop people from buying size XS graphic tees at Urban Outfitters.
Well, don't hold your breath. It's the elephant in the room - literally - and no one wants to deal with it. In fact, I can pretty much guarantee that there is at least one United States Senator inside a Washington D.C. Brooks Brothers right now, trying to squeeze into a slim-fit, non-iron tattersall diddy with French cuffs and a 14.5" neck, when in fact we all know that the poor bastard would really just be better off draping a queen size comforter around his body and calling it a day.
So we can't expect legislative action, and ever since that cottage cheese-eating, New Hampshire rock-climbing hippie David Souter retired from the Supreme Court, we can't expect any majority opinions forcing people to buy the correct size, either.
Readers, this issue remains a mystery to me. Except in the case of certain college football sweatshirts, very few articles of clothing actually showcase the size on a visible portion of the garment. Yet people seem ABSOLUTELY INSISTENT on buying the wrong size and thereby drawing attention to any imperfections. Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that Aunt Slugger hasn't eaten her fair share of Hostess Pudding Pies dipped in Cheez Whiz over the years. What I'm saying is that God gave us fabric stores for a reason, and we should not be afraid to go buy twenty yards of white muslin and fashion ourselves a housedress after a hard night of drinking and dunking fried Clark bars in tubs of butter.
So to get back to the question at hand, the unfortunate answer, Larry B., is that until we see some action at the federal level, your best course of action is to buy a pair of welding goggles and a kevlar vest to protect yourself from projectile buttons.
Oh, and if the culprit is not only wearing tight clothing, but also neon clothing, you should pour hydrochloric acid in your eyes.
Hope this helps.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
Dear Larry Byrd:
First of all, I'd like to thank you for addressing this matter, because we certainly can't rely on our elected officials to deal with this. While they were sending 30,000 more troops to Afghanistan this week, the rest of us were wondering when someone will send 30,000 troops stop people from buying size XS graphic tees at Urban Outfitters.
Well, don't hold your breath. It's the elephant in the room - literally - and no one wants to deal with it. In fact, I can pretty much guarantee that there is at least one United States Senator inside a Washington D.C. Brooks Brothers right now, trying to squeeze into a slim-fit, non-iron tattersall diddy with French cuffs and a 14.5" neck, when in fact we all know that the poor bastard would really just be better off draping a queen size comforter around his body and calling it a day.
So we can't expect legislative action, and ever since that cottage cheese-eating, New Hampshire rock-climbing hippie David Souter retired from the Supreme Court, we can't expect any majority opinions forcing people to buy the correct size, either.
Readers, this issue remains a mystery to me. Except in the case of certain college football sweatshirts, very few articles of clothing actually showcase the size on a visible portion of the garment. Yet people seem ABSOLUTELY INSISTENT on buying the wrong size and thereby drawing attention to any imperfections. Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that Aunt Slugger hasn't eaten her fair share of Hostess Pudding Pies dipped in Cheez Whiz over the years. What I'm saying is that God gave us fabric stores for a reason, and we should not be afraid to go buy twenty yards of white muslin and fashion ourselves a housedress after a hard night of drinking and dunking fried Clark bars in tubs of butter.
So to get back to the question at hand, the unfortunate answer, Larry B., is that until we see some action at the federal level, your best course of action is to buy a pair of welding goggles and a kevlar vest to protect yourself from projectile buttons.
Oh, and if the culprit is not only wearing tight clothing, but also neon clothing, you should pour hydrochloric acid in your eyes.
Hope this helps.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
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