I went to the dentist the day before Halloween. I didn’t eat that morning so that it would be easier to clean my teeth. However, the experience itself brought to mind the ancient practice of fasting before feasting, as if the shiny, sharp instruments had performed a purification rite before I rewarded myself with sweet, sugary treats. My hygienist was a priest. The chair transformed into a confessional booth, and my teeth revealed my sins of omission — particularly the sloth of my flossing habit. As she washed away my toothy transgressions, the hygienist brought me up to date about her girls. I hadn’t realized that her youngest daughter was now in high school. She and her sisters are too old
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