It's a sad story, but I bust a tooth when I bite into a piece of chicken that I steal right off my son's plate. "Serves you right!" he tells me, showing zero sympathy, and he is correct. I did steal his dinner. I just wish it weren't such an expensive lesson to learn.
Next, when the drilling stops and the rebuilding starts, I know (and am later told) that I cannot eat for a while. Of course, this is when Dean Martin starts crooning, "When the moon hits your eye LIKE A BIG PIZZA PIE..." Damnit, Dean, now my stomach is grumbling.
It takes over an hour of work, and, despite being numbed up to next Tuesday, I can feel what the dentist is doing. For the first time in a very long time while in a dental chair, I almost raise my hand for a break; I almost ask for another needle. Just at that same moment, the dentist is done and the technician takes over with the cursory things, like impressions (gross but painless) and gluing on the temporary crown. All of a sudden the speakers are blasting, "Big girls .... they don't cryyyyyy. They don't cry!" So, I don't. After all, I'm a big girl.
I am scheduled to go back in three weeks for the final fitting of the permanent crown. I tell the dentist as I'm leaving, "Let's try to have a better soundtrack next time. Today's line-up killed me." True, but I'm humming (out of the half of my face that isn't paralyzed) as I leave the office.
