BlogLT's Blog

I am cursed.

Got my teeth cleaned today. And I have to share with you a curse that has haunted me nearly my entire life.

You know how dentist offices always play the same [fucking terrible] Easy Listening music? Bad enough, right? Well, for as long as I can remember, I have been at the mercy of one particular Dental Office song: “Take My Breath Away” by Berlin.

I know what you’re thinking. “But LT, surely you don’t remember every song that played when you were at the dentist six months ago or twelve months ago.” And you’re right. I don’t. But I remember THAT song, BECAUSE I HATE IT.

I have such loathing for it that I decided around age ten that it was my official Least Favorite Song Ever. Nothing has ever knocked it from that lowly excrement-covered pedestal, in part because I outgrew the need to trumpet all the things I Don’t Like, but also because it is a repulsive song, and no other can ever hope to sink to its level.

For twenty-some years, I was plagued by this song. Each time I passed over the threshold of that hallowed place and climbed into the reclining seat, I knew I was doomed to hear the farty synth stylings of “Take My Breath Away.”

So I did the only thing any sane person would do: I stopped going to the dentist.

Actually, I stopped going because I didn’t have dental insurance.

But maybe also a little so I’d never have to hear the song again.

I had seven years of peace, and I enjoyed every moment.

And then, a few years ago, I decided I really did need to start going to the dentist again, because being able to chew food is kind of handy and stuff. I put on my adulting pants, got dental insurance, and made an appointment for a cleaning, all the while dreading what I knew was lying in wait, probably crouched somewhere behind the spit sucker.

But a strange thing happened.

I sat in the waiting room, perusing old issues of Women’s Health and Good Housekeeping.

No Berlin.

I lay supine, with metal instruments scraping at my gums and also sometimes my teeth.

No Berlin.

Polishing, flossing, X-rays…

No Berlin.

The curse was broken!

Or so I thought…

Fast forward to today. I enter the office. I wait until my name is called. I say hello to my hygienist. And at the exact moment my butt hits that vinyl chair, I hear it.


I am now convinced the song slow-rolled me on purpose, lulling me into a false sense of security and allowing me to believe the curse was over. That I’d finally eluded my damned existence.

But I should have known all along. I can not escape this evil.

No one can.

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