Local Woman Enjoys Picking at Things; Or Fun with the Dental Hygienist

Contrary to local lore, I do not have, as the lunchroom monitor once described it, a “big mouth”.
I explain this to my new dental hygienist, a woman with kind eyes and fabulous hair.
I look up at her, adjust the paper bib around my neck.  “So I’m going to have to take breaks, close my mouth every now and then, okay?”
“Totally fine,” she says. 
The conversation, such as it is, takes a decided turn into “lull” territory as she pokes at each tooth’s gum line.
“Howz oze ack ee oo-in?”
My back teeth have been the source of personal consternation for a while now.
She removes her hands from my mouth.  “For someone with all her wisdom teeth, they’re not bad.  Pretty much unchanged since last time.”
We take a small break from the dental cleaning, allow my jaws to relax.
“I’ll bet there aren’t a lot of male hygienists,” I say. 
She pauses.  “Now that you mention it, there were 30 in my class and only one was a guy – and he quit more than half way through the course.”  She shakes her head.  “Who quits more than half-way through?”
I shrug.  “Somebody who’s come to the realization that they don’t really want to scrape things off the roots of teeth?”
She laughs.  “There’s just something kind of satisfying about doing a good job at it, though, you know?”
“I hear ya.  I clean houses on the side, and man, there’s nothing better than vacuuming a really dirty carpet.”
“Or peeling a really great sunburn.”
We grin at each other.
“I used to have a boyfriend with just the worst skin and if I could get him to sit still–“
“Ahhh!” I laugh. 
The eyes behind the safety goggles crinkle in amusement, a smile is detected under the mask.  “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about picking and probing during a teeth-cleaning.”
“Oooh,” I say.  “That reminds me.  Do you know you can squeeze the pores on an orange?”
She stops, eyes wide.  The metallic picking thing hangs above my head.  “No.”
I smile broadly at her, a mouthful of partially cleaned teeth.  “Yep.  Seriously, try it.  You can get your two thumbs down there and squeeze the little pores.”
She leans in, and I open my mouth.  “I love those little bits of information” she says, a finger hooked into my cheek, a sharp object prying the plaque from a molar.   “Some days, I just can’t wait to see what will happen next.”