Yesterday, once again, I found myself at the periodontist’s with a gas mask over my face. As you may recall, I don’t particularly enjoy laughing gas, as I am a control-oriented sort, but the alternative is usually less appealing in these instances.
I took a few deep breaths, and began to hear the telltale electric beat deep in my ears. The periodontist leaned in with his gloved hands, and they seemed absurdly big. I thought, “This is the only non-sexual scenario in which a man has ever had his fingers in my mouth.”
I laughed. Then I blushed. Then I became hyper aware of my tongue, and spent the next hour wracked with concern about accidentally doing something untoward. In conclusion, laughing gas is wasted on me.