Our four-year-old has cavity issues in his baby teeth. At his last check up, he had FIVE cavities.

Holy shit.

Nothing the dentist says after that is good. She tries to make out like it’s normal for some kids, blah, blah blah. She asks if my husband or I am brushing his teeth. What? No, we let him use bleach to whiten his smoke-stained fingers, and when I ask him for scissors I say “run back with them.”

Of course we brush his effing teeth.

Stupid hippie. Stop reading everything on the internet. Small amounts of any poison take forever to kill off people.

Next damnation statement: “Do you use fluoride toothpaste?” 

Fuck no, I heard it’s poison. “No, I spend six dollars a tube on sodium laurel sulphate- and fluoride-free paste,” I preach.

Silly shake of dental head. She said: “A pea size of fluoride won’t harm anyone.”

What I heard: “Stupid hippie. Stop reading everything on the internet. Small amounts of any poison take forever to kill off people.

Fine. I agree to fluoride.


When she says I need to schedule him for five fillings, my cheque book flies out of my purse and commits suicide.

“Seriously? He is four. Won’t those very teeth be gone in like two years?”

She doesn’t speak. Elitist dentists.

Since my son was better mannered than me, he was allowed to go the “Treasure Chest.” I felt happy that at least we would recover some of the cost back with a toy. The vision of gold light shining from the box was replaced with smoke and dust as my son and I both looked at the shitty collection of prizes. 

Small, plastic parts were strewn everywhere. Ugly unidentifiable animals, cardboard puzzles as small as your thumb, yo-yos that didn’t even have the string wrapped around them. Kinder Egg prizes–before they improved–were a suitcase full of drug money compared to this dentist treasure trove of disdain.

When she says I need to schedule him for five fillings, my cheque book flies out of my purse and commits suicide.

Are you fucking kidding me? You make what–millions of dollars a year, and you can’t even fill a box with at least dollar store prizes? You slay my bank account and shame me for not using toxic fluoride, and my kid can’t even find a prize worthy enough to give to a prisoner in isolation?

I offered no useful answers as he held piece after piece up asking what does it do? Finally after pleading with him to pick something. He takes this. A tiny red stick is missing since after we got the prize, but it fits in any one of the five holes on the green base so you can play ring toss.
You know what this prize is, dentist? This is a car accident. ‘Cause guess what–my son won’t wait until  we get home to open it. NO.

He will open it, beg the fuck out of me to put it together NOW, and it won’t fit. The stick you can’t see didn’t fit. I had to take a fucking hammer to it, and even then it fell over.

He will yell at me from the back seat that he lost one of the circles (cause he did) and I will, after feeling like a tooth-neglecting mother, start sweating, boiling with rage at you, and I will drive my car into a ditch.

So either throw out your piece-of-shit dentist treasures in that treasure chest, or start handing out samples of fluoride toothpaste. It may be poison, but I can guarantee it’s less harmful to our health than playing ring toss with this.


Angila has been writing since 1979 when she received her first diary, filling it with boy crazy nonsense and girly drama. It wasn't until the 21st century that she discovered writing was a healing tool to release inner chaos. When Facebook was invented Angila, who is an attention whore reveled in receiving likes and shares. Comments started pouring in that she should write a book. Knowing her lack of follow through and commitment issues, Angila ignored the advice and chose to blog. Detached From Logic is where she currently vomits her creative juices and allows the voices in her head a digital soap box. Her life long dream of having fans came when wordpress announced she had one follower. Unlike the stalkers in her life this one felt acceptable and welcomed.


  1. Omg…so awesome. I thought I was going to die when I saw the picture of that toy.

    I can so relate to the ridiculous amount of judgment at the dentist as well. We took our son to the dentist when he was about 18 months because he had this brown layer of goo along his gum lines. I was worried that his teeth were rotting, but my inside voice was telling me that it was probably the 16 apples a day that he was eating that were simply staining his teeth the way they stained his white shirts. Within 2 minutes, the dentist scraped the crap off his teeth and they were as good as new. When I asked the hygienist if it would have been the apples he’d been eating, she looked at me reproachfully and said that they only see that kind of build up on smokers or people who drink a lot of pop. I said that in fact, we refrained from allowing him to do either of those things, she looked at me even more reproachfully and told me to make another appointment in 6 months. Sigh.

  2. Nodding “yes” so much I feel like a bobble head! Funny!! He should have one of those signs over the chest that say “One man’s treasure is another mom’s trash.”

  3. I am shaking so hard from laughing that I can hardly form a response. I love you, my little giraffe. ^^^^THAT is why. ALL OF THAT. Omg. Best. THE BEST.

  4. I’m a dentist at a pediatric office. I love this. That dentist should be ashamed. I give away Hot Wheels and My Little Pet Shop animals at my office. Going to the dentist is tough for kids. They deserve respect and consideration. So do their parents. I’m reposting this on my personal Facebook page to shame my dentist friends into being more aware of the effect that harsh criticism and crappy prizes can have. (BTW, agree with the fluoride, NOT a millionaire. Couldn’t help myself.)

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