I like my dentist. He is encouraging, and doesn't make me feel like a complete loser when I have a cavity. However this does not mean that I enjoy being in his chair. Rather I give a sigh of relief for having been in it last week, with the hope of not being in it again for six months. There were times I neglected making an appointment, and when I finally did I worried. A question hovered just behind my lips. 

"Are my teeth the worst you have ever seen? Do you judge me?" 

But I never actually spoke it. 

The last time we had a plumber come it was a mucky mess. The leak had made the contents under the sink slimy, and I berated myself for not having gotten rid of old bottles of cleaning spray, and practically empty rolls of paper towels. Yet the problem could not be ignored. If we wanted to eat washed food and serve on clean dishes, it had to be addressed. The repairman plunked on the floor and pulled out the grimy gunk, with no apparent disgust. The box of tools he brought from the truck did not have just the right wrench so he went out to the driveway to fetch it. There was something I wanted to know but did not dare to ask.

"Is this the most pathetic kitchen you have ever been in?"

Last month a friend confided in me about the messy side of her marriage. The blackened words, and leaky tempers. She was timid to talk out loud about the underbelly of her home, and yet something had to change. She could not keep skirting around the feelings. They were ready to burst, like my pipes. 

Nothing she said shocked me. Although the pain level was sky high, the dynamics felt familiar. Couples who share a life, and children, and money get stuck. I have heard old wives tales of people who never get cavities, and sinks that never clog but it has not been my experience. I don't think needing floss and a plunger means I am a failure.