Third time's the charm. With cavities, so is the seventh.

And three is the number of times I've sat down to write this entry... I'm having trouble with it, because there's no way to make it funny, so it's an entry for me, and not very likely to entertain you. Let me preface it, therefore, with an apology.

My dad has been out of work since January. I always qualify that statement to take the sting out. One of the higher-ups in the company called him two months later, asking him to come back as a full-time employee, and Dad unceremoniously turned him down -- which makes Dad's unemployment more his decision than the company's decision, and makes me (and presumably him) feel better. His jobless state doesn't bother me; his depression bothers me, and while Dad didn't care for his job, he really doesn't care for feeling worthless.

Thus, my first statement is good news: he got a job with a competitor. And now for the bad news: it's in Maine. He'll be gone until I leave for AU. He's coming back just before my departure to help me pack and unload in DC (despite the fact that Mom and I are more than capable), but those few days are all I'll see of him after Tuesday.

The little things bother me. Dad and I had plans to redecorate and paint my room, and it was actually his idea. I like working on his infamous "projects" with him -- Dad can't ever be idle, and to this end he builds little sheds for my grandmother (all the while proclaiming that he is a geriatric, of course) and reinforces the walls and roof of our old general store in Avon. Et cetera. I was looking forward to painting my room together and spending time with him before I left. Thinking about just Mom and me sharing the house for two weeks makes me shudder, not because of any bad relationship with my mother, but because we fight roughly every two hours. Hopefully, neither of us will be in the hospital when Dad gets home from the airport.

Dad says that the timing is bad, and he's not thrilled about all the travelling he'll have to do (now in Maine, later in Covington or Roanoke Rapids), but overall I think he's pleased to know the company wants him there, and therefore I'm happy for him. I'm just also a little depressed, and I'm trying not to think about it too much.

Now, let me see if I can revive my usual sardonicism to tell you of my dentist appointment, part two.

I have very good teeth, outwardly. They're straight and white. What more could I ask for? Well, for starters, I could ask for my mom's teeth instead of my dad's. Mom, no matter how infrequently she brushes, gets no cavities. Dad, on the other hand, is constantly breaking his old fillings and needing root canals, no matter how good his oral hygiene is. In the family tradition, therefore, I brush twice a day and STILL get more cavities than the average Southerner... which is just depressing.

Our dentist is in Richmond, where my grandmother used to live; Dad and I are used to him, so we travel for three hours to see him rather than finding a local one. Thursday before last, we went up there. Mom had her usual tooth cleaning. Dad got a tooth fixed. I was informed that I had two... oh wait, here are some X-rays... make that six cavities. He filled three. He was booked solid until the end of August, but I needed this done before I returned to school, so he volunteered to come in on a Saturday to see me.

Did I mention that I have a horrible fear of dentists and have only recently been able to go to these appointments without shaking in terror?

Yesterday was Saturday. After Dad and I went to the mall despite the fact that shopping is probably his least favorite activity and had a very nice lunch together, I emotionally prepared myself for the appointment and we proceeded to the office. As I sat in his Chair of Torment, trying to make the best of a horrible situation, I joked, "Well, this is the first time in a few years that I won't have had any new cavities since the last appointment!" Because, you know, it was a week ago and there's no way I could have anything new, right?

After Haley started working on my remaining three cavities, while I was incapacitated in his Chair of Torment with my mouth completely numb, he said, very calmly, "Now, I don't want you to freak out... but there's another one."

*in garbled Novocain-speak* "QRHAT?! Gurk kigging, khright?"

He laughed.

"Ogh, gur ghar kigging."

"Heh! No."

I swear my pain gave him glee.

Apparently, he'd noticed this very small tooth-wound upon another careful examination of my X-rays and had needed to see me again to be sure. So, I got another shot of Novocain, and he went to work. As he did so, one of his suction-things hit my front tooth, which I of course didn't feel because DID I MENTION THE NOVOCAIN?

Dr. Haley, sadist that he is, commented, "Oops... now we're going to have to fix that chipped tooth."

"QRHAT?!?!"

"Haha! Just kidding!"

Dentists are evil incarnate, and the devil has given them drills. It took me about four hours to get back the feeling in my face. Between Dad and me, I bet this family is financing his daughter's education. Also, I think I'm going to start brushing between classes... and, with the advent of those blue finger-brushes, possibly during them.

They'll feel bad when I OD on toothpaste.