who really want to preach at men don’t seek ordination, since they know

that men who are disinclined to be admonished by women any more than duty

and necessity require can always find places other than church (like

the golf course or work shop) to commune with their Maker. 

No, the really serious reformers-of-males become Dental Hygienists, for having one’s teeth worked on is something approaching a universal necessity, and nowadays the pilgrim to the dental cathedral can hardly avoid dealing at portals with a smiling gospeler whose job is ostensibly to clean your teeth, but whose actual mission is to turn you into a fanatic whose life is henceforth to be lived in service to them.

Here is a completely truthful account of my dialogue with one of them at my last visit to the dentist:     

Dental Hygienist:  “Good morning!  May I call you “Bad Little Stevie?  I’ve got some tools on that tray that say I can.”

Me: “Oh yes, please do.”

DH: “Have a seat here.  Some new safety protocols: Just three little straps: one at the ankles, one below the sternum, and one at the neck.  Comfy?  Now open up.”

M: “Ahhhggh.”

DH: “My, what beautiful teeth!  At fifty-seven you only have two cavities?  If you don’t floss them seven times a day, they’ll all fall out, probably before your next birthday.  People who are serious about keeping their teeth brush them after every meal (twice to be sure, because the toughest brush we’ll let you use has the stiffness of baby hair) and floss them twelve or more times a day.  At your age you probably have prostate problems that get you up two or three times a night.  Remember this little poem: 'Up to pee? Floss those teeth.' ”

M: “Can’t I try betel nuts?”

DH: “Now, now, it’s no joking matter.  As you get older, your gums get gummier (just like your tum gets tummier–you could stand to lose a few pounds, couldn’t you?), more susceptible to those nasty little bugs called bacteria, who poop out slicks of tooth-eating acid.  They make your mouth into a slimy, stinking pit of tooth death.  And remember, the teeth are where the rest of the body begins: Dens sanus, corpore sano, my son.”

M: “There’s no other way?”

DH: “No.  You must repent, believe, and live a new life.  I can see by looking at those teeth that you have been a very bad man.  Popcorn last night, eh?”

M:  “EEEEE!”

DH: “Tender spots like that are caused by sin, Stevie–mortal sins, I suspect, like chocolate before retiring, or years of brushing only once a day” [here she shudders and makes the signum dentis].”
M: “Invincible ignorance, Lady–okay, okay, I believe!  Have mercy!”

DH: “We’ll find out about your sincerity at your next visit.  Say three Hail Fairies and five I’ll Bothers.  There’s no hiding place down here.  Take ‘im, Doc.”