I took the boys to the dentist yesterday. Not the sedation dentist, the pediatric dentist. I can’t quite put my finger on what I find so strange about the pediatric dentist, although if I had to say one thing I would say, “Bubble-gum flavored latex gloves.” The kids love it at the dentist’s: the dentist gives out sunglasses the kids wear so the light doesn’t hurt their eyes, they lie back in their chairs, they open their mouths, and they get prizes at the end. Everyone who works there smiles non-stop.

They do a fabulous job of it, at the pediatric dentist. It isn’t frightening in the least. The dentist does lie to the children about things like whether the fish on the computer screens are really fish (he says they are very thin fish and there’s only a little water in there) and whether he can push a button on his console and have pizza delivered (Henry believes he can), but the children don’t care, they love it, and I spend my time there smiling and faking it along with everyone else—the dentist is so fun, darlings—for my own reasons, i.e., so we can all get through the dental visit and move on with our day.

The little lies are indicative of a big lie, but the children don’t know that, yet, and I’m going to try not to mention it to them.

My own dental visits involve very polite but still high-stakes battles over whether I can watch TV while I’m having my teeth cleaned; (relatedly) my being hated by the hygienist, who has an enormous bosom; and finally me sitting there thinking to myself, I’m a grown-up, I can just stand up and walk out of here if I want to, no one can stop me.

Now I’m thinking about which flavor latex gloves I would like. Bread? Pickled ginger? What if they had latex gloves left over from the nineties, and they were all Sun-Dried Tomato and Pesto? Wouldn’t that be so sad?