There must be some sort of graph out there to indicate the relationship between bad hair and talkitiveness at the dentist.
The other day I went to the dentist. As I was sitting alone in the chair, partially reclined and trying really hard not get get a full-on erection, I could hear in the room next to me this middle aged woman going on and on while two hygienists held her down as Dr. Dentist went to town on her mouth. Now my thinking is that she confused a chair and attention to the head with the same atmosphere of a beauty salon. She was trying to explain her kids' swim team activities as the hideous high-pitched hiss of the dental drill pecked away at her toofs.
My suspicions were somewhat confirmed when I saw her get up and leave, all smiles, still chatty Cathy. Her hair was big. I mean BIG. Dyed awfully, but clearly a lot of attention paid (literally as well) to maintain such a bushy quaff.
Then I thought about my hair. Fabulous curls, styled to the utmost, right where high-fashion and ultimate style meet in the middle of the street and start having crazy animal sex.
So, in conclusion: the more you pay for your hair = the most you'll talk at the dentist. FACT
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