The Freelance Retort: Toot be Told

On top of being on my own for the weekend, the weather has been miserable here since about mid-day Saturday; right after I finished mowing the lawn.

If the weather was going to turn miserable, couldn't it have turned miserable before I dragged out the lawn mower?

But at least it was a beautiful Saturday morning as I drove to the dentist's office at 7:30 AM to have my broken molar fixed.

Yeah…I broke my toot.

I know, I've dropped the H, but it just sounds more like it should sound to me, being broken and all.

My back left bottom toot to be exact.

And of course I was home alone so had no one to play out the drama to.

Oh the pain…the pain…I broke my poor little toot!!!!

Even though there was no pain at all…just the pain of embarrassment as I stood there holding a body part in my hand, totally disheartened because, the truth of the matter is…I’m falling apart…piece by piece…toot by frickin toot.

And I can’t even tell you I did it in some kind of off the wall, wacky bachelor weekend kind of way; like I was trying to open a beer bottle with my teeth. Or that I got into a bar fight with a 3 year old who took exception to what he perceived as my unfair characterization as to why Sponge Bob Square Pants might be suffering from gender confusion issues.

Hey, kid…if you don’t want to listen to adult conversation you have no business being at a bar at 10 AM, even if it is just a breakfast-bar.

Nope…I broke it on an almond.

A nut.

A legume.

While waiting for my soup to heat up.

Because almonds are supposed to be good for your health…but apparently not so much for your teeth.

I wasn't even sure I actually broke it at first.

I felt something hard rattling around in there, but I just thought it was a piece of the nut. And at first I thought it was, once I got it out and looked at it.

I mean most people can’t tell the difference between an almond and a tooth…right?

But you would have to be some sort of clueless, self-awareness misfit not to recognize your own oral appendage when you see it.

What?

Plus the gaping crater that I felt with my tongue in the back
of my mouth was another sure giveaway that something was wrong.

So I did the first thing that came to mind, from years of watching ER…I took my little pebble of a toot bit and packed it in a cooler full of ice.

Which I thought was smart since with today’s modern medical miracles, I figured my dentist would just be able to reattach it to the rest of my molar.

Right?

Unfortunately, reattachment, as my wise guy dentist pointed out, once he stopped laughing, wasn't really the treatment of choice with severed teeth, unless a thumb is attached to the toot, as well.

But he did appreciate the six pack of beer that I also packed in the cooler.

Anyway, once he dried the tears from his eyes and finished his second beer, he told me not to worry; he could easily fix the problem, and asked for another beer.

He also asked if I wanted any Novocain, but I told him that wasn't necessary since I had brought my own and pumped it into my jaw the second I pulled into the parking lot.

Bottom line is…or should I say, toot be told…it was all a big tootdoo over nothing.

My mouth is once again whole and the only restriction I had was not to eat on my left side for the next 7 years or something.

Which I found to be a rather odd precautionary measure, but if I have to lie on my right side while I’m eating for a while, so be it.

I wasn't going to tell Z anything about all this because I figured, why should I ruin her weekend with my silly troubles. But then I figured, she’d find out eventually, especially since I forgot to bring back the cooler....so why not?

And I was right…she did get pretty upset, at least at first, but only because the Novocain hadn't quite worn off and she thought I was saying, “I smoked the Vermouth” instead of “I broke my tooth”.

But once I was able to communicate the message clearly she was fine and went right back to her cha-cha lesson.