YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE TOOTH!!!
You should’ve seen the look on the dental hygienists’ face today when, before I sat down in the hot seat, I asked her if I could have a copy of my x-ray. I wanted to say, “See, I’m a blogger and I want to write a post about how the tooth I am having pulled today is some sort of metaphor for life, dealing with rejection or something like that.”
But I didn’t
I just let her draw her own conclusion.
Meanwhile she printed my x-ray out.
Look at Number 31 there; the 12-year molar on my rear passenger side. The root is missing. The technical term is Root Resorbtion, which basically means that my body decided that it shouldn’t be there anymore and started dissolving it. Supposedly it usually begins with some sort of trauma to the tooth in question, but I don’t think that was the case with this guy. He just didn’t fit in and they rejected him for some reason.
My mouth is full of bullies I guess.
So I went ahead and had it pulled before it caused me too much pain.
Okay, so my blog post idea didn’t really work out all that well. I had a similar thought the other night when I was standing in the back yard looking at the solid sheet of seemingly pristine snow lit only by the glow of the moon. It had fallen the night before and the top had formed a light crust where it had melted and refrozen. The part that struck me though was the footprints.
There were my big moon-boot prints leading out to the dog pen. There was a line of rabbit tracks and a few winding cat tracks. There were several small bird tracks that wound around randomly. There was even one that looked like another dog’s that led into the yard, made a few circles around Chopper’s pen, and then made a bee-line out the other side. All of the tracks made these cool lines and patterns around the yard that were downright fascinating to look at, like some sort of bizarre road map.
And once again I thought, I could write a blog post about this. I’m sure I could come up with some story about how it represents our life journeys or the mark we leave on others when we pass through their lives.
But once again, that’s where it ended.
I guess it’s the price one pays for being a blogger.
So instead, I made it into a Jack Nicholson quote.