Domestically Dentally Disabled

I had to go to the dentist yesterday. And I cried like a small child. So much so, that they brought a second hygenist in just to whisper words of encouragement. She told me that “going to the dentist is hard, but I was doing a really good job.” Which of course just made me cry harder. Yes, ladies and gentleman, that’s right. I have a phobia of the dentist. To give you a picture of just how legitimate this was, they offered to help me find a dentist who practices full sedation so I could be knocked out while they work on my teeth.


Fortunately for me, dental disability is not my only fine, fine characteristic. I am also domestically disabled. If you don’t believe me, check out these texts I found from my weekend adventure trying to cook Whiskey Walnut Blondies for the Super Bowl:





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