Right of Passage

They say when you turn thirty, your body quits growing and begins its (hopefully) slow decline. A couple years ago when thirty loomed I felt besieged by the media. Everywhere I turned I was a reminded that my youth was officially over on March 22, 2004.

But the truth is, that year may have been the best year of my life. So, take that National Magazine Company!

So far my 30s aren't so bad, and thankfully, being 30-something is nothing like that dreadful show in the 80s. However, in subtle ways you do start to feel the decline. Wrinkles start to emerge around your eyes, wiry white hairs start shooting out at odd angles from your scalp, and you find yourself staring down your first root canal.

Yup, I went to the dentist yesterday. Dr. A- discovered a nasty ole cavity just where the pain is coming from, and he said I need a root canal to treat it. I figured as much. In spite of all the horror stories about Dutch dentists not wanting to give you pain medication, Dr. A- was kind enough to dope up the right side of my face. Of course, he's not Dutch, so I don't really know what Dutch dentists would do.

The whole thing was generally ok except the horrible, horrible sound of the drill inside if my head. That's not really a Dutch thing though.