I settled into the dental hygienist chair. Aimee greeted me. “How are book sales going?”
“Great,” I answered flattered that she remembered I was in author mode, appearing at book signings with Cliff Simon for “Paris Nights: My Year at the Moulin Rouge,” which was six months into its publication.
Clipping a paper bib around my neck, and sticking a mirror into my mouth so she could get a look at my gums, she said, “Excellent. I see a big improvement.”
I relaxed. I didn’t want to get a failing grade, and I certainly didn’t want to lose my teeth.