Monday, October 7, 2013

To Tell The Tooth

That my life revolves around food should come as no surprise to anyone, least of all me. Imagine my surprise then, when all the plans I’d made for a couple days’ vacation were scuppered by a visit to the dentist. I hadn’t been in a while (laziness, cheapness and my really intense gag reflex are my main excuses). And I called the morning of my first vacation day, not expecting to get an appointment. A deep cleaning, several fillings and $200 later, I staggered out knowing that my planned Five Guys take-out dinner, breakfast at the diner near the library where I had books to pick up, and the buffet at the casino after a few rounds of Blackjack were not going to happen. Instead it was soup and vodka and some honking great big doses of prescription ibuprofen. Plus some mouthwash. I do wonder, however, how I am going to be able to spend two weeks spitting:




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