Of all the cities to have a motherfucker of a toothache in, why did it have to be Columbus, Ohio? I would have been better off if I'd been stranded in West Bumblefuck, Nowhere, with my only option being some old fart with arthritis who was about forty years past senile and working on decrepit. Barring that, why the hell could I only find one dentist out of twenty-two who took my shitty insurance? If it hadn't felt like my jaw was gonna fall off from the pain, I would have kept trying until I found another one, but ya know, I'm not big on my jaw falling off.

Maybe it's a coincidence that the only dentist who would take my insurance happens to have the same last name and other initials as my ex, and practices in my ex's hometown. Maybe some burly ol' brother with a shaved head and an earring is gonna call out "Next!" and I don't have to look like a damn fool. It's a little late now, though. I'm sitting in the dentist's office, waiting my turn like a good little girl, bored out of my everloving mind. I don't have anything to read, and this has to be the only dentist's office in the known universe that doesn't subscribe to Sports Illustrated, ESPN, Inside Stuff, Street and Smith, Sporting News, or anything like that. I was looking for the hockey mags, I was so desperate. Nothing. It's like I walked into some world where sports never existed.

I should never have come back to this Goddamn city. I got no real reason to be here except a layover designed by a sadist. And Columbus hasn't been good to me in years, not since I used to win titles here. Bet you didn't know about that. The W tried to hush it up, 'cause they don't like people remembering that there were really good teams that never had boo to do with the NBA, but you can't hide the bling. I fell in love here, and I tried to fall back in love here, and I had a couple of anniversary gifts chucked back at my head here. Yeah. I have memories of Columbus, which is supposedly more than a helluva lot of people from Columbus can say. It was kind of important once upon a time.

But that was then, and this is now, and the receptionist is staring at me like I'm some kind of alien or something. I know there are black people in this city, it produces point guards who are so cute the way they think they can take on an Olympian and win, but that cute little redhead doesn't seem to have seen them. Shame, 'cause I'd watch her until my appointment if she weren't so scared. Or maybe that's what she's scared of, which makes me think I'm in weird coincidence land, 'cause my ex is not nearly dumb enough to hire a homophobe as her receptionist. Obviously she's not bright, 'cause she's my *ex*, after all, but she's not that blind. Oh, hell, maybe it goes the other way and they're fucking in the office, and she's warned Cute Redhead that I like a little somethin'-somethin'. Well, I can't help it if I got needs, can I?

Maybe if I put my shades on, she won't recognize me. Maybe if I hide my face... oh, fuck, that won't work, she's a fucking dentist and I've got a fucking toothache, so she's going to need to look in my mouth, which is on my face. Goddamnit, why couldn't I have dated a podiatrist? Or a chiropractor. That would have been good. I could turn my back on her for the whole time, and we wouldn't have to do any of the awkward "hi, how have you been since you did the psycho bitch thing and chased me out of the house for getting a little tail on the road?" stuff. But at least I don't have to make small talk if she's got my mouth open.

And has sharp pointy things in my mouth, which she can use to inflict pain on me. Shit, this is looking like a stupider and stupider thing to do every minute. If I run now, all she can hit me with is a cancellation fee. She can't make me bleed. Maybe I should cut my losses.

Except that my mouth hurts like a motherfucker, and it doesn't take the genius that I am to realize that I've been gritting my teeth against the pain I know she's going to cause me. I don't think I'm going to be able to talk to explain myself very soon, which means I'll have no way of explaining that my mouth and my teeth hurt like someone set my nerves on fire and could someone figure out what the fuck is wrong and fix it, thanks? It's here or the emergency room, and those motherfuckers charge you an arm and a leg, then bill you for taking off the arm and the leg.

It might not even be her, and there's a crapload of time I spent worrying about nothing. Her last name's as common as dirt, even more common than mine. It's possible, even probable, that this is someone else, someone who doesn't know who I am other than the walk-in, someone with whom I have no history and never will again. I should just relax and make this easier on myself. What kind of little kid am I to be afraid of a visit to the dentist's office? Besides, if it is her, she won't do anything that I've imagined. She's professional. She'll look inside my mouth, figure out what's wrong, fix it if she can, and tell me what to do if she can't. She won't give in to her inner torturer. She's better than that. If this even is her, which I've decided it can't be and therefore isn't.

"Mr. Sharp, I really think a mouthguard would be a much cheaper alternative to the continued need for reconstructive surgery. I know they aren't very pleasant, but they save you a good deal of trouble in the long run. Plus, you can impress your friends in the locker room with the tricks you can make it do. I speak from experience. Please consider my advice, because we're getting to the point where I feel I can't ethically continue to work with you." Except that's her voice, and I can see her back through the receptionist's little window; she's let her hair grow out, which is good, because the Midwestern mullet thing she used to go with was some nasty shit. She looks good. Still standing up straight, which is tough in a tallish woman. She's certainly tall enough to intimidate the Toothless Wonder into listening to her.

I don't need the receptionist's announcement, but she needs to be something other than eye candy. Here's hoping the ex has forgiven and forgotten... "Miss Johnson, Dr. Smith will see you now."