I’m supposed to go get my teeth cleaned twice a year. I don’t.

It’s nothing personal. I’ve always thought nothing is better than a good trip to the dentist, so nothing is what I usually do instead. It’s not that I’m afraid of dentists, but I have a considerable respect for the erosive power of dentistry bills, and no insurance. For most of my working years, I spent my available income paying down my mortgage. And I retired with a paid-for house and dental plaque. Also, apparently, healthy teeth and gums.

That’s what the dentist says. She is not a scold by any means, but several employees of the clinic managed to work into the conversation that I hadn’t been there in three years. Nevertheless, things seem to be in good enough shape. In fact, the dentist’s office is the only place I’m going to get any praise for my teeth, which are otherwise ghoulish.

Things have changed in three years. New tools, new protocols. No more big lead apron during x-rays. Evidently the equipment is more targeted now. Before, they used to swing a device at your face that looked like the nose cone to a rocket and blast the whole neighborhood with radiation. Also? The lead apron purportedly might interfere with the x-rays, necessitating more x-rays, although since my dentist never took the x-rays through my body from the floor level, we probably didn’t have that problem.

The cleaning protocol was new too. This time the hygienist started out by stabbing me repeatedly in the gums with a sharp stick to get my mouth’s attention. I inquired. She said she was checking the space between my gums and teeth—you don’t want too much. It was fine. My teeth weren’t loose at all, at least before she started.

Well of course they’re not loose. They’re jammed in there tighter ’n Lindsey Graham’s butt cheeks. Some of them are sideways. My plaque situation was not as bad as it might have been. A little worse on the left side. Did I spend less time brushing that side, the hygienist wanted to know?

Oh heck no, I said. I hardly brush at all. That’s the side I chew on. It’s the only place any of my teeth match up, and only two of them do. Basically I send my food to the left and wrestle it till it’s just small enough to clear my tonsils and send it straight down the hatch.

She didn’t use the old scrapey-hook as much. They’ve got a new enhanced vibrating scrapey-hook that’s easier on the hygienist and not quite as off-putting to the patient. It no longer feels as much like someone’s trying to incise hieroglyphics on my teeth. And with this new device, she proceeded to excavate a moat between my teeth and gums into which, I assume, we shall introduce special bacterial piranhas to protect the fortress.

Next up, she advances on me with three feet of dental floss wrapped around her fists, like a garrote. And for the fluoride treatment, she started rattling off all the usual candidates, orange, cinnamon, bubble-gum, so I hollered “MINT” to head her off at the pass, because Mint is the only correct answer to the fluoride treatment questions. And then she said Salted Caramel.

Really?

Oh hell. Worth a shot. Why not rub a Snickers bar over all this fresh toothage? Well. I’ll tell you why not. The body is not fooled. The body does not think it’s funny to suggest there’s ice cream coming in when there’s no ice cream coming in. Mint is the only correct answer.

Three years from now, I hope I’ll remember that.