So I'm sitting there in the dentist's office, because I need a crown, because I stupidly decided not to take care of my teeth back when I was a teenager. I've had a temporary on for about a week, and it's done fine; but now it's time to put the permanent cover on.
My dentist is a very nice lady of Indian descent, and she's working with a dental assistant. I'm laying in the chair, which is tilted almost flat, while the dentist is doing a little poking and prodding and cleaning, to make sure we get a good fit and nothing nasty gets trapped under the crown when they put it on. They have, at this point in the process, removed the temporary; so what's left of that tooth is rather exposed.
Being solicitous of my comfort, she asks: "Are you sensitive?"
"I cry at children's movies," I tell her. "Does that count?"
There is a long, long pause. Then she chuckles. "I've never had anybody say that," she admits.
"It doesn't count," puts in the dental assistant. "Those things are designed to make you cry."