“Gone Fishing” Excerpt
Seamus, already sporting his fishing vest and wading pants, sat alone in the dentist’s office. He was dressed and ready for his weekend excursion immediately following his final pit stop where cavities came to be punished. Once at the lake, this preparation would save him the ten extra minutes that would be spent fly-fishing. But first things first, he told himself. The dentist was simply one of those necessary chores. After all, he’d already postponed the appointment twice.
The recessed ceiling speakers chimed with Muzak ditties intended to soothe patrons waiting to have their plaque, tartar, and dignity picked clean. He thought he could make out the tune “Girl From Ipanema.” If he were waiting for Miss Ipanema to clean his teeth—that tall and tan and lovely Miss Ipanema, who walked like a samba—maybe he wouldn’t mind his rendezvous with the drill. The visit might even be worthwhile so long as he had a pretty face to admire while she burrowed away at his molars.
No, that’s just crazy. She could be massaging him and whispering sweet nothings in his ear and still he’d prefer to be elsewhere. As if these trials of mental and physical fortitude weren’t enough for one man to endure, the hygienist who experimented on his mouth exhibited the care and precision of a three-year-old given knives to play with. Grizelda always worked on him despite his requests for a different tormentor.