I’m pretty sure there’s a piano hovered neatly above my doorstep, ready to crash on my head the moment I walk outside. I’m totally using the back door, FYI. And no, you Uncle Pervies, not THAT back door.
I’d accepted the poisoned cake. I’d accepted glass-filled eyes.
But the tooth? That just seems excessive.
Yeah, that’s right. I broke a tooth yesterday. ANOTHER tooth. That would be the second tooth in six months.
And you’re probably thinking, “That Wiley Aunt Becky, she looooooves gnawing on boulders,” and you would be wrong. I prefer pebbles, if I’m going to gargle rocks at all (I have a small mouth).
See, I was all, “LOOKIT THIS DELICIOUS ALMOND! I AM GOING TO EAT THIS DELICIOUS ALMOND!” so I did. Then, I was all, “THAT FUCKING ALMOND DONE LODGED IN MAH TOOTH SOMEFIN’ WEIRD.” Apparently, I was also playing the part of Cletus, The Slack-Jawed Yokel.
So I stuck mah old finger on into my mouth to inelegantly dislodge that particular bit of feisty almond, when I all but sheered my finger off. Either that was some fucked-up almond, exacting revenge upon me for gnawing on it, or my tooth had broken. (the third, less popular option was that I’d eaten a razor blade, but that was quickly discarded as a possibility. I am dumb but I am not THAT dumb).
I waddled to the bathroom to attend to my bloody stump of a finger and to look in a mirror.
Sure enough, as I bled every-fucking-where, I saw it. A chunk of my waaaaaay back molar was gone. Presumably down my digestive tract, probably wrecking havoc and possibly killing me dead before the day is out (I don’t have high hopes of seeing tomorrow).
My tongue is shredded to ribbons from having the audacity to move, and I’m trying to fashion a tongue-bra to tide me over until 3:00, when my dentist can finally see me.
And fix the second tooth I’ve broken this year.
I expect a lecture on stress and how I should find some relaxing things to do, like take a bath! Eat some yogurt! Run five miles! But I won’t be listening to him. I’ll be too busy working on my i(don’t bother using it as a)Phone.
Hope he’ll get out of the way so I can see my screen. Otherwise a lot of people are going to be getting really bizarro emails.
If I don’t see you again, Pranksters, know that I love you. Each and every one of you.
(*waves* Hi Lurkers!)
And if I am back tomorrow, expect that I’ll be missing an arm, a leg, or possibly a face. You should probably start a betting pool.
Just, you know, sayin.