No walk for me yesterday. I had one of those Dreaded Dentist Detailings. OK. OK. It was just a cleaning, but dreaded nonetheless. You never know what they might find, poking around in your mouth.
As it turned out, all was good. The tooth technician did ask me:
“Do you floss?”
I replied, truthfully, “I have flossed.”
Not fooled by my wordplay (obviously not her first rodeo), she asked, “How often?”
Ouch. I was dead in the water. All I could say was, “At least once or twice.” (Meaning, of course, once or twice over the course of the last six months, usually when some errant article of culinary delight has chosen to embed itself into a less-than-spacious area between my teeth).
She hit me right back with the knockout blow, “You should floss at least three or four times … a week.”
Oops. Probably not happening. See you in six months, though, for my next scrape and polish.
Sam had doctor appointments up in Texas all afternoon. They left soon after the roof guy did. Yep. We had a roof guy come check out what it will take to repair or possibly replace the roof. We should hear something on that in a few days.
James 1:12 says, A man who endures trials is blessed, because when he passes the test he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love Him.
Father, thanks for the concern of that dental tech superstar. I guess. Amen.
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