It just shows to go that procrastination has its place.

Despite hating doctors -- which is why I haven't had a physical in [muffled] years -- I have no problem with going for a biannual dental checkup, despite, on average, brushing my teeth only once or twice a presidential administration. My hygienist -- the only one in the small dental office I go to -- always gets on my case about plaque, tartar, bleeding gums, et al., and I always say with sincerity that I have the best intentions of taking better care of my teeth in the next six months, intentions that last approximately five seconds after I leave the office. (Since I haven't had any cavities since middle school, it's hard for me to start the habit.)

The past six months have been no different, so before heading to the dentist this morning, I came up with an idea: I would brush my teeth for between 10 and 15 minutes, making sure I hit every tooth and every crevice to see if that had any impact on how she viewed my teeth. And, um, she commented at least three times on how much better I must have been brushing since the last visit, because my teeth looked much, much better. Um.

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I would never be able to stay in one career that long.

According to the certificate in the office, my dental hygienist was certified by the Virginia Board of Dental Hygienists. In 1952.

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"I want to go to Mt. Splashmore! Take me, take me, take me, take me now! Now, now, now, now, now!"

We would like to go somewhere for Memorial Day weekend, because it is our fifth anniversary that Saturday and fifth anniversaries demand some sort of exotic getaway, like southwestern Virginia or even more southwestern Virginia.

So. If you know anywhere exciting we could go for a two- or three-day visit in Virginia, or North Carolina, or eastern West Virginia, or Maryland, or Delaware, or eastern Pennsylvania, or southern New Jersey, please tell us. Now, now, now, now, now.