I was flying high over the city of Mobile, just like The Dude in  “The Big Lebowski” (but with better hygiene). Or maybe I was in a galaxy far, far away. I’m really not sure, but “the Force” that was with me was the nitrous oxide I was breathing while at my dentist’s office last week.

There are a lot of things that go through your mind when you’re flying high, like if I were a dentist I would have 20 tanks of this stuff in my garage, though I suppose the dental board would frown upon that. Is there a dental board or would it be some other regulatory authority? Or I guess just the police. Or probably both. Hmmm? I don’t know. I don’t care. I don’t even care that you have a sharp metal object in my mouth right now. Scrape away. Rip my gums out if you’d like. I really don’t care, as long as you keep playing Hall and Oates over the loudspeaker.

Whoa, oh, here she comes. Watch out boy, she’ll chew you up.

You know, I don’t think I have any H&O on my iPhone. Is that what you’re supposed to say, “on my iPhone,” or do you still say iPod even though it’s on your phone? But you’re referring to the music, not the phone, so how do you make that distinction? Or do you just say iTunes? I wish there was a local Hall and Oates cover band. Man, that would be a fun party band. She’s a rich girl, something about her daddy’s (or was it the old man’s money?). I forget. Note to self: purchase Hall and Oates off iTunes for my iPod/iPhone as soon as I float out of here.

Wait. Did Frank just change my iTunes password or was that the iCloud password? Grrr.  How many times have we had to change those stupid passwords? Like a thousand? I think I could figure out the intricacies of particle physics easier than iCould figure out how the cloud works. iConfused.

Hmm. That really is a lovely Eugenia Foster piece hanging on the wall in front of me. It is a painting — watercolor, I think — of an old Southern home with a big porch, like the kind you see all over Oakleigh or Old Dauphin Way. I bet the spindles on the porch were the hardest to paint. I wonder if she painted the green around the white or the white around the green to form those. I wish I was artistic. Wait. Are those spindles or would you call that the “balustrade?” No, I think spindles make up the balustrade.

God, how do I even know the word “balustrade?” Oh, yeah from when I was covering City Council and there was all that architectural drama in Church Street East known as “Spindlegate.” God, that was crazy. I think someone almost or did go to jail over spindle width. Balustrade. There’s a balustrade on the promenade. It sounds so regal. If I were married to a fancy man named Alistair, we would sit on the porch in this painting every afternoon and I would say, “Alistair, get your derriere off the balustrade and go fix me a mint julep, darling.”

But I’m not. I’m married to Frank. Larry Frank, not short for Lawrence Franklin, just Larry Frank, which is good if you are into the whole brevity thing. Not that he can’t be fancy. He cleans up real, real nice, Clark.

Larry Frank has a birthday next week. God, I love that man. He likes Hall and Oates too. I wonder if they will ever have any tour dates. Or does Hall hate Oates? No, I bet Oates would hate Hall, if there is hate at all. They seem like they would play the casinos, don’t they? Or are they still too big for that, too big for that? What song is it Frank really likes?

Oh God. I think I just sucked on the metal mirror dental tool thingy, thinking it was the suction.

“Shorry,” I said with the tool in my mouth. That’s what she said. Oh how I miss “The Office.”

Gosh, I better keep it together better or they are going to take my happy gas away. I think there is about a 56 percent chance my face may look like I have had a small stroke.

I need to figure out something to get Franklin for his birthday. He needs a new smoker. I wish I could get him a green egg, but I would have to sell my eggs. I mean, not my 38-year-old current eggs but my 22-year-old eggs. I wonder how much those would have pulled in?

It probably wouldn’t even have been enough to get a green egg. I wonder if those things are even really worth it. The Egg, not my eggs. Or is it like buying a $500 cooler when you have no need to ice anything down but the beer you take to your friend’s house who has a refrigerator. I can’t lie though. I still kind of want one for some reason. Maybe so I can put cool stickers on it. The older you get, the fewer things you have to put cool stickers on.

That sounds like the kind of thing you would read on one of those lame fortune cookies that don’t really give you fortunes. Someone should really start a business that makes cookies with cool/and or terrifying and definitely oddly specific fortunes. You will win a heater from CVS next week. You will develop Crohn’s disease in six months. I bet if I Googled it, I would find someone has already done this.

“Turn your head back a little this way,” my dental goddess requested.

I think there would be something oddly soothing about this job. The calming whirr of instruments, the constant and precise motion and of course, the cool tunes. But you do have to deal with people’s mouths all day, and I bet they aren’t all created equal.

I can’t go for that, can’t go for that, no.

“OK, we’re all done. I’m going to give you some oxygen now.”

Say it, say it isn’t so ….