Desperate teeth

Look out for that–

Today Ms. Susan (my good buddy, blog reader and commenter extraordinaire) who lives across the bay agreed to meet me for lunch at the Hilltop Restaurant.

Even though I am mostly vegan, we decided to split a reuben and munch on french fries.

We always laugh when we’re together.

We talked about subjects like:

1)  blogging

2)  our kids

3)  health

4)  Facebook

5) our feelings

6) sixteen other forgotten subjects

when suddenly, I felt some stray bit of sauerkraut or corned beef or bread lingering between two back teeth.

“Susan, there’s something desperate between my teeth,” I casually said and then we–

yes, we both cracked up.

Desperate teeth?

Who says stuff like this?

“There is something desperate between my teeth.”

We laughed so hard that Sally, the waitress, paused by our table to tell us that we make her day when we visit.

“Why?” I asked.

“I like to hear you having fun,” she said.

“You can have fun with us,” we told her.

“I’ll be off work at 2:00,” she promised.

Two friends

(However by 2:00 something very different had happened and I was no longer laughing.)

Susan and I hugged, and hugged again in the parking lot, honoring the friendship with exists between us.

I flossed between my teeth.

“Did you get it?” she called from her open car window, and I nodded, tentatively, as we both drove away in our separate directions.

But still–there’s that feeling you get when something exists between your teeth.  It feels like a popcorn kernel, no a small rock, perhaps a boulder.  Something is hanging out having a tooth party and you WANT THIS PARTY TO CEASE, NOW, c’mon floss do your job!

I stopped at Pat’s IGA and flossed again, when, plunk, yep, you know where this is going don’t you, up popped a small kernel of tooth into the palm of an unsuspecting hand.

Yep, it was a desperate tooth after all.

I turned the key in the ignition, without even a pause, and drove to my wonderful dentist and whimpered to the receptionist.

“How are you?” she innocently inquired, and fifteen minutes later she led me in to a gentle and understanding dentist who observed the wayward desperate tooth and pronounced it–sniff, sniff –yes, mostly dead.

It needs a crown.  It wouldn’t NEED a crown, except for the other cracks which fissure in the enamel, god bless its pearly white molar existence.

Luckily, Dr. Summersett will see the desperate tooth at 5 p.m. tomorrow.  Luckily, your blogger experiences no pain.  Maybe a dull ache in the background, like the tooth is mourning its loss.   Sure, the mother of the tooth has to lead a budget hearing tonight–but she can persevere.

It’s not Desperate Housewives, dear friends–It’s Desperate Teeth.

Stay tuned for further exciting tooth adventures!

I hope YOUR tooth isn’t hurting, dear rock…