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Friday, April 15, 2016

Missing Molars

(L-R) Me, me and me.

M is for Missing Molars

April A-Z Challenge

Remember when I told you about my loose tooth and how I’ve been hanging on to it for dear life despite the dentist’s urgent and dire warnings. (I was doing coconut oil pulling and taking vitamin D and stuff.)

Well, today the offending tooth was wrenched sadistically from my upper jaw in a most unceremonious and violent fashion.

I’d had a pain in my upper jaw the other day, you see.

It wasn’t just a mere niggle this time. Oh no, it was a cry from the fiery depths of Hades. My tooth had suffered enough for my vanity and was screaming out for its release from the bowels of hell that is my infected mandible.

I exaggerate. My mandible is not infected. But the tooth had dislocated from the bone and the nerve was confused about was happening, “I have no fudging home!” it lamented piteously. “I’m going to make someone suffer for this dental travesty and make someone feel as if a nail gun is firing into one’s jawbone.”

So, I made a last minute appointment and had it cricked, jerked and twisted from its home of forty-eight years… and now I look like a pirate.

Actually, saying I look like a pirate is self-flattery. A bogan? No. Even bogans have dentists. A hillbilly? Nup.

Bikie? Nup.

What I look like is a fudging witch. Like a fudging witch from Macbeth.

Now I have to develop a lopsided smile which only reveals my right smile or I might be burned at the fudging stake by some angry villagers.

Some people look rakish with a missing tooth. For some people it adds character, a certain nuance. You know what I mean. As if they may hold some dark, interesting secret.

But for some people it just makes them look as though they’ve just come from a mid-autumn coven meeting where they sacrificed a virgin and pranced around a fire with carrots tied to their nose.

Fudge my life.