How did I manage this one?


Image by pattyanne:made via Flickr

Ewww. What is that? Is that a giant piece of food stuck in my teeth? This is my thought yesterday as I look in the bathroom mirror while washing my hands. I open the medicine cabinet and grab the dental floss. I unwind six or eight inches of floss and wrap one end around my right index finger. A quick swipe of the floss between the two teeth in question does not remove the offending blemish.

Well, while I’ve got the minty string ready to go I may as well floss the rest. My teeth always feel so happy after I floss. I really should do it more often. That would surely make my dental hygienist’s day. She wouldn’t have to perform quite so much torture to clean between my pearly whites if I did.

With my teeth successfully flossed, I investigate this strange mark on my tooth further. Scraping with my fingernail, I can feel something is there. I tilt my head to the left. Scrape, scrape, scrape. Still not sure what it is. I tilt my head a little further to the left. Now I can’t even see in the mirror. I tilt back to the right; just a hair. Back to where I started. I angle my chin slightly higher. Scrape, scrape, scrape. Tilt, angle, scrape.

Oh my god. Is that I chip in my tooth? Or is it some sort of nasty plaque? Tilt, angle, scrape. Crap. Now I can’t see in the mirror again. I think it is a chip. No, it’s plaque. This internal dialogue and head dance continues for several minutes before my frustration mounts and I realize I am not accomplishing anything.

I step out of the bathroom. “Princess Girl, when you are done eating I need you to get the flashlight and look in my mouth.

Princess Girl does a perplexed look really well.

“I think there is something wrong with my tooth. Might be food or something, but it might be a chip.”

Dinner is finished. Laundry is changed over. She even asks for, and gets, ten minutes of computer time. Finally I can wait no longer.

“Get the flashlight.”

I turn my head to the left waiting for her to shine the four inch diameter light right into my eye. Amazingly she doesn’t. She tilts the light. She tilts my chin. The light. My chin.

“There is something there… Or it might be a chip.”

Again the light. Again my chin.

“There is definitely a chip… Or it might just be some food thing.”

Again the light. Again my chin.

“You know, I think it’s a chip with something in it.”

Not the compromise I was looking for. 

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