Kalah Allen
Mental Dental

I didn't go through dentistry school to deal with women like you. You don't actually need to be there for your kid's every yelp and whimper. Pulling teeth on your squirming brat is hard enough without having you hover over me. And you sure as hell don't need to bring the rest of your brood of mouth-breathers into the room looking over my shoulder. You need to stay in the waiting room with your other histrionic brats, reading old issues of People and complaining about how you have the hardest full-time jobs ever. Hey, you're the one who chose to have five kids--if you wanted that many yapping, hairy, smelly creatures needing your constant attention, you should have gotten some dogs. It's hard enough looking happy to see your little hell spawn every day, and I'm running out of clean jokes and free balloons. And if one more of your little shits makes fun of my Hawaiian shirts, I'm cutting off the novocaine. No wonder so many dentists kill themselves. Between the needles, blood, screaming, herds of children, and overprotective soccer moms, death seem like a nice vacation. --Anonymous