Huh? Well, give me a chance and we'll see if I can work it out.

I went to the hygienist earlier this week. As usual, she asked me how often I brush and how often I floss. I gave a series of unsatisfactory answers, "Three times a week. When I think I need it. I don't remember. I never think about that." Eventually she gave up (vocally) and cleaned my teeth. Possibly she sulked, I don't know.

Now from her point of view, it is her duty to ask those questions and to give me a lecture if she doesn't like my answers. And I'm sure her teachers and her employer would back her up on this.

But from my point of view it is an annoyance and an imposition. I don't like it and I don't want it. I didn't come here for a battle of wills. Dental hygiene may be your whole life, Missy, but I have other priorities. In spite of my neglect, my teeth are not falling out in rotten handfuls. Just clean my teeth and shut up.

Now it occurs to me that this is a microcosm of my relationship with Madame T. She insisted on doing things by the book and would not be persuaded otherwise. She was trying to change me in ways I did not want to change, and would not back off. That, in my view, is not good therapy. But in her own eyes, I'm sure she felt she was right.

So I'll just have to find another hygienist.