Toof Decay
Monday morning I had both of my upper wisdom teeth pulled. Good old numbers 1 and 16. They were 'fully erupted' which isn't anything as exciting or snide as it sounds. It just meant you could get a good grip with a pair of pliers. The procedure went as smoothly as you'd expect when someone's leaning into your molars with a pair of tongs, swearing and biting down on a cigar. "Never been beat by one of these yet," the dentist groused as he reversed his grip on the pliers and began to apply more torque. A crunching sound reverberated through my jaw as the tooth gave up its seating and the doctor's face light up in satisfaction. "Well," he said, "that's over, I think I need a drink" as he withdrew the tooth and let it drop with a audible clank into the metal tray held under my chin. "You'll need one too. Nurse, get this boy a prescription. Make it a double."


