I went to the dentist the other day, just for a cleaning. I'd be in and out in under an hour. No problem.

Well, true enough, I wasn't there that long, but I have to go. back. next. week. I wasn't expecting the bespeckled doctor to summon my return for not one but TWO fillings. And they're not even cavities, but broken fillings from one of the other fifteen times I've had a mouth full of drills and metal.

Why am I boring you with my dental agony, you wonder. Given my history of bad teeth that've all been filled and refilled more often that I've had my hair cut, perhaps I should have just expected Dr. Meanie to find something wrong. But no, I went in there truly expecting to hear a "nice job, see ya in six months, go have some ice cream!" Then when that didn't happen, I was none too happy.

I just don't have time for this right now, I wanted to whine. I wanted to pout and stomp my foot like a five-year-old because, well, that just wasn't what he was supposed to say. But being between that too-young-to-know-better and too-old-to-care age, fortunately the restraint of middle-age-spread maturity took over and I stood politely while the sweet little girl in the front scheduled my return to walk the plank. Oh the agony of it all . . . .

Please join us on our blog for the rest of this month's column. It's here, and please share your advice or experiences that might help the rest of us.

I'm grateful to be a part of your cyberlife, and I appreciate your time and interest every month. Take very good care of yourself :-)