The older I get, the less things, in general, gross me out. It’s like, you can only ignore the stuff splattered underneath the toilet seat so many times until you realize, nobody else is going to clean that shit up, so you might as well tie a sweatshirt around your face, put on some rubber gloves and get comfortable with dry heaving for the next 20 minute, because this is adulthood, dude. Shit dropplets and tiny hairs under the toilet seat.
Under the camp of still fucking gross, however, fall teeth.
When I was younger, my dad had an irrational compulsion with dental hygiene, and from a young age, I remember him inspecting our mouths after each brushing, and then standing behind us as we rubbed and dried each tooth with a clean wash cloth. On the upside, I’ve never had a cavity, on the down side, I was a fucking weird kid to have at sleepovers.
Whenever I lost a tooth, he would clean it and then spend hours explaining to me the root systems of our mouths and how teeth were way bigger than they looked, like how you only see like 20% of an actual iceberg, and honestly, it freaked me out. So much so, in fact, I was only visited by the tooth fairy once, after that, banning her entirely because the thought of putting a disgusting tooth under my pillow gave me nightmares.
I mean, it’s like we all have these tusks growing out of our faces, and we act normal about it? This is why I don’t like narwhals, guys. You can romanticize them as the unicorns of the sea all you want, but that’s not a magical horn, it’s a giant incisor growing out of their forehead.
And if that didn’t make me want to unzip my skin and crawl out of it, I came across a photo of an actual human skull demonstrating how it looks when a child’s teeth come in. I can barely look my kids in the face right now, y’all. It’s like underneath their tiny baby faces are the makings of Saw XIII.
I know we need teeth to chew food, but 1. I’m cool with milkshakes and 2. this feels like a problem that Steve Jobs would have solved for us eventually, anyways.
Last week Andy was out of town on business, but he ended up having to cut the trip short due to a dental emergency. His tooth broke and, like, the nerve was exposed and dangling out of it, and it was all apparently really painful. I tried preparing for his arrival by readying the heating pad (I had cramps) and boiling water (I wanted egg salad), but the the next thing I know he’s walking in the front door looking like the elephant man.
He couldn’t get into the dentist until the next day, and he kept trying to make me look at it, so I did what I do in most medical emergencies, throw ice packs and Percocet at it until it falls asleep or goes away.
Which leads me to the realization that there are two people in this world. People who can take narcotics and not need diapers, and people who cannot.
He had some leftover pain medication from his vasectomy, and much like cheese, I just assume it never expires, so since Advil and Tylenol were futile, I blocked the memory of his last narcotic adventure and hoped for the best.
The best ended up being me having to spoon feed him soup, hold him upright at the toilet, and listen to him call me Brithany for an hour while the kids decided new dad was way more fun than old dad.
Ok Andy, I have you all set up on the couch, what do you want to watch?
Thumble weezy abbadobble.
Ok, Twilight Saga it is.
Awww, I love new dad, too.