So, to The Hygienist scraping my teeth with a razor blade: "While you're at it, could you dislodge some of these vile memories?" I wonder. "The filth that's been accumulating since the day I met her... Remnants of her putrid being that have so encrusted themselves... All bound to fester and decay over time anyway." The Hygienist sighs, and picks up a much heavier implement (typically reserved for extractions). "Okay," she agrees, "But you're going to be sore later." And the process begins. Without anesthetic of any kind. Finally, I spit into the porcelain bowl. Blood. More blood. And some other stuff. "There she goes."