Whippersnappers.

I went to see my beautiful dentist yesterday. I always enjoy our summer appointments; when he's tanned, my dentist really gets his Shaun Cassidy on.

Before I could see him, though, I had to sit through having my teeth cleaned. I enjoy having clean teeth, but the process makes me crotchety. Fortunately, my hygienist totally gets me. Over the years, we've worked it out; she doesn't hurt me, and I don't bite her.

I didn't get to see my usual hygienist, though, because she was on vacation. Instead, I had to see the young upstart one. I've had to deal with her before.

I hate it when young people don't defer to me. I did my time humoring old people. Now it's my turn. Every now and then, though, I run across a young person who just doesn't know her place.

I was gonna keep it cool, though, because--contrary as I found her to be--she was about to have at my teeth with a pointy metal tool. And she looked to be the type who might bite back.

"So," she said, "you didn't get an x-ray last time you were in?"

"No, I did."

"Um, nnnooo. Not last time."

"But I did," I said. "I remember it."

She just shook her head.

"I'm sure I did," I said.

"No. I'd have it here." She waved the folder in my direction. Such certainty! Like nobody ever misfiled anything.

"But I remember having it," I said. How on earth was I going to win this argument in the face of such obstinacy?

Just then, the receptionist stepped in to return my insurance card. "I didn't charge you for an x-ray," she said.

"You didn't? Are you sure? Are you positive? Because I remember getting an x-ray."

In fact, I remembered everything about it. I remembered the vibration and little brrr sound the machine made while taking the image. I remembered that the room had been cold, and even remembered counting to myself for what seemed forever--holding my breath and waiting for it to be over so she would release the mechanism.

Uh oh.

I was remembering my mammogram.

No wonder she didn't have it in the folder.