It’s Sunday night. I vowed I would not write an another entry until I had made rounds on all my blog-reads. I’ve not read them in a week. Now that I’ve caught up I can write guilt-free on whatever comes to mind. 

As is the often the case my mind’s a blank. 

The weekend was nonstop ‘there’s work to be done’ chores. In my defense I got nearly all of them done. The Hallowe’en trimmings are boxed up and away (finally!) and the kitchen floor is swept and mopped.

I had one bit of adventure: I got my teeth whitened. For some time I’ve been conscious of the coloration of my choppers. They resemble old ivory piano keys. Oh the embarrassment. As a consequence I smile less and less with each passing year. Whether Someone is a dear or he’s just tired of hearing about it he bought me an appointment with some snotty spa to go get my teeth whitened.  So Saturday afternoon I brushed my teeth looked in the mirror at my yellow monstrosities for one last time and braved the 101 to drive to the faraway Kingdom of Scottsdale. 

I was expecting a dentist office setting. What it looked liked was a beauty salon – ritzy one in which I had no business being there. The receptionist and most of the waiting patients looked like they had just whipped through puberty. I immediately felt eighty years old and disheveled as Mr. Nicholson of ‘The Shining’. I was assigned my very own personal consultant whose name escapes me but I will call her Wendy the Whitener. Ms. W.W. was of uncertain age as she had had ‘work done’ and lots of it – teeth, lips, eyes and nose. I explained this was my first time and I hoped she could do something to help me. She instructed me to show her my teeth. I think she was sort of taken aback as she exclaimed this job would require the special extra-strength dose of polish or peroxide or ‘Summer Rain’ – and several appointments. This wasn’t going to be a one-stop job.  I was a bit disappointed but not all surprised. Fifty years of continuous tea consumption isn’t going to wash out in one sitting. 

To my disappointment the whitening room wasn’t a cozy office like a massage but a communal room full-up with massage chairs in which people recline with ultra-violent lamps aimed at their kissers. The room was dark and the radio was loud.  She placed me in one of these chairs and inserted into my pie-hole a vice-like device resembling a speculum used for pelvic exams.  I was to keep my mouth open for twenty minutes and not move. It all had a bit of “A Clockwork Orange” feeling to it. Someone (the dear!) warned me to bring headphones so I could listen to podcasts while I lay there like a bleached whale.  I thought I would become anxious gagging on drool but it was actually sort of pleasant – or would have been but for her assistant. This bouncy young man continually stopped by to ‘check on me’ to ascertain the sinister light device was properly aimed at my buckies. 

After what seemed an hour Ms. Wendy Whitener deemed the ‘operation’ a huge success. While my teeth are far from ‘celebrity white” they are less yellow than they were. I am pleased. I am supposed to go back for Rounds #2 and #3 until they are as white as Moby Dick or I run out of money whichever comes first. 

Curious! Now that my teeth looking more like a man of forty perhaps I should get some nice hairdresser to take out the gray and another nice youngster to work on the Spo-bags until my eyes. I could be young and beautiful again! I wonder if the Scottsdale spa has anything for a fat ass?


No this is not me, but it sure looks like the lad who assisted me.