Smile Though Your Wallet Is Aching
8:24 a.m. -- I opt for drawing black spots on my teeth with a Sharpie pen.
10:12 a.m. -- I may sue my dentist. He implies I have a big mouth. It's the "MEN AT WORK" sign next to my chair.
10:13 a.m. -- My dentist likes to shout down my mouth for the echoes.
11:11 a.m. -- The dentist adjusts my bite. I can tell. I find myself a lot kinder to politicians.
$2800 later -- I have two new crowns, one gold and one porcelain, side by side. I hum "Blingy and ivory chew together in perfect harmony..."
11:20 a.m. -- I bid adieu and a drool to the doctor, saying, "Thanks for not letting me be a toothless goon."
I am a fully-teethed goon.
11:37 a.m. -- Post-dentist letdown. I always feel special when I'm touched by rubber gloves.
12:02 p.m. -- An epiphany:
I've had only two dentists in my life, father and son. I'm celebrating my 50th anniversary with the same spit sink!
I'm sentimental that way.
I'm a chick flick.
