Watching: The last game of the World Series. Wow, was that an anti-climax! I hated missing The West Wing for that.

Enjoying: A really good cup of coffee. I bought a quarter pound of the house blend coffee beans at Wegmans for our company from California. I don't drink a lot of coffee, but when I do, I want it to be good coffee. And this is good stuff.

Quote of the Day: Stephen, furious with Daniel and Matthew who were both teasing him yelled, "I wish I could pass gas on you guys!"

Why I Fear Going to the Dentist

I have a dentist appointment today. It's just my regular six-month checkup and cleaning, but I'm dreading it. As I said to Tab, the worst part of going to the dentist is not the discomfort of having my teeth scraped with a sharp instrument, nor the gritty texture of the cleaning paste, nor the unpleasantness associated with having some male I'm not related to stick his hands in my mouth. No, the worst part for me is being forced to make small talk with the receptionist. Tab, who usually enjoys talking to everyone, agreed.

I always hope, when I show up for my appointment, that Diane will be on the phone or talking to another patient. Then I can wave hello so she knows I've arrived and happily slip off to the refuge of the waiting room, out of her sight, and read my book in peace. As soon as she gets off the phone or the other patient leaves, however, she calls out, "Come and talk to me!"

So I have to trudge off to her little office, where I fidget on an uncomfortable, hard wooden chair, while being forced to listen to another one of Diane's near-monologues about her son or her dog or her latest efforts to lose all of eight pounds ("The last two are just impossible!").

Back at my last appointment, in April, Diane was complaining about her son's girlfriend, who had recently decided not to get a degree in teaching after a year in the program. Diane complained at great length about how foolish the girl was being to give up a secure career in teaching. "I told her she was crazy. If she becomes a teacher, she would always have a good job."

When I could finally get a word in edgewise, I told Diane that I thought it was a good thing her son's girlfriend figured out sooner rather than later that she didn't like teaching. I remember having a few teachers throughout my time in school who had no vocation for the profession but were only teaching because it was a "safe" career. Those were miserable school years.

Diane paid no attention to my comment but went on crabbing about the girl: "She's giving up a good career!"

Sigh.

Maybe I could fake a case of laryngitis. No, that wouldn't work: Diane doesn't actually require any actual response other than the occasional nod.

Well, I just have to get though it, and then the torture is over for another half year.

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