Avenged

In the dentist chair, the dreaded Dr. Rostami or maybe Dr. Emami (who can tell the difference?) reclines me back into a position of vulnerability. As I clutch the armrests in desperate fear, Daddy advises me to kick my sneaker through the window upon feeling the least bit of pain. But I haven’t the courage to carry this out, even as she pricks and prys at my teeth. Sensing my angry dejection as we leave, Daddy scrapes the dog poop off his boot using the edge of their office door. We share a look of satisfaction. I feel sufficiently avenged.