My teeth are little rebels. I don’t think they like me and I can’t figure out why. I brush them when my day begins, I brush them when it ends. Sometimes, I even brush them in between. I floss them and I take them to the dentist (against my personal will) on a regular basis. The only nice thing my teeth have ever done for me is look nice. I never had to put braces on them, because they naturally aligned beautifully, killing any theory that pacifiers ruin a kid’s teeth. Because according to the nostalgic childhood photos, I loved my pacifiers up until I was, count it, five. But I guess there is truth to the saying, “Looks can kill.” Because while my teeth may appear to be lovely and polite, they are in fact, treacherous and conniving. They force me into that dentist’s chair far too often.
It just isn’t fair. And it isn’t necessarily genetic, either. My mother has teeth harder than steel. She says it’s because she grew up in West Texas. Specifically a place in West Texas where the drinking water was enriched with the perfect combination of minerals to make one’s teeth harder than steel. When she goes to the dentist, her nerves never tighten up or freak out at the sound of the drill or that evil metal clamp they use for fillings. I hate that clamp. My dad, however, hates the dentist more than I do. He says his earliest memories of the dentist came right out of a scary movie.
And my teeth are at it once again. The current culprit is on the right side of my mouth. It’s back there, twisting a little pitchfork into my gums. It has been twisting since last summer. And every time I visit the dentist, it plays Hide and Seek. Seriously, no idea what the problem is, even with x-rays and all. I have theories that include fractures, cracks, etc… Problems that may force this little insurgent to be removed from my mouth. That’s our relationship right now. No love. Just hate.
I go to the dentist tomorrow. I am determined to find the pitchfork. So is the dentist. I have a good feeling about this guy. He already prescribed me pain killers; talk about a fantastic first impression. And they work. They knock the hellion out for a while, giving me a break. However, I am not allowed to blog while on the pain killers. Because I am a lightweight when it comes to medicine. And Gabe may or may not have had to take a potentially dangerous item away from me last night. I don’t get violent; I get loopy and laughy and crazy and cooky. I think it's just a high from the temporary defeat of my current arch enemy.
Let's hope for permanent victory tomorrow.
[yep, I sculpted my own little tooths!]