I've always thought that going to the dentist was a bit like going to confession. You don't want to do it, but you always feel better afterwards for having done it.
Today I realized, though, that when going to confession, you tell the priest your sins. With the dentist, he tells *you* your "sins"!
After lying in the chair and getting a sharp object stuck repeatedly in my gums, and hearing ever increasing numbers being calmly called out by the hygenist, I hear someone in the next room getting, "2-2-2; 1-2-2; 2-2-2" and similar numbers being read. I bet the patient was in his teens. At least that's what I'm telling myself.