and speaking of breath...
I've been to the dentist the prescribed number of times--twice a year, more or less. In all my dentist visits (and I remember quite a few of them) I do not recall being able to feel the dental hygienist breathing on me, as I did yesterday. It has to have happened before, and I don't blame her. How could you avoid it when you're literally in someone's face?
More than the germ factor (she wore a surgical mask, though it was little consolation) the breathe was an unwanted intimacy, like the hygienist I had years ago, who rested her hand just above my breast while she chatted at cheerfully. OK, it wasn't like that. That was worse.
It occurs to me that the sorts of things I like to write on a blog are just the sort of thing that will get you into trouble in a small town. Maybe blogs are better suited for the anonymity of the city.
Why do I like writing about strangers?