On Christmas day I was munching on turkey and heard a loud crunch… and spit out a tooth. Not really a tooth, a but crown. #6 by dental terms, which means my right canine. My fang, people. MY FANG. I managed to shove that sucker back up in there and made it through the night, only to get to the dentist the next morning and find the root had shattered and I needed oral surgery. Right then. Not the let’s numb her up and yank it kind, it was the let’s pop in an IV and DIG kind.
Holy balls, I look like a goober with this huge gap in my face. I have no desire for anymore drilling in my head, so I’m opting for a bridge. Which means the hole has to heal and I’ll continue to look like a goober for at least two months. Needless to say, I’ve been high as a kite for three days–and still am. I managed to go to work for a little while yesterday, but that was only because I do payroll and my co-workers might have rebelled had I not shown up. Lucky for them, I managed to be able get their checks right through the haze of painkillers. I think. No one’s called to bitch, so I guess I got it right.
But in my dazed and confused state I’ve been practicing my skillz on the husband because he didn’t go get that poor dog the other day. He’s gotten me anything mushy I want to eat, whatever I want to drink, and just generally fretting like crazy, but I did not get the dog. *hrumph*
Playing with Lily this morning, we decided to go get her new toys–he drove, don’t worry. In the store he says, “There’s only thing better than the Kong toys for her.”
“And that is?”
“Another dog.”
*ting* went my non-existent tooth when I smiled. “And we’ll name him Bentley.” Because I can rock the Southern accent when I say Bentley like that chick on Teen Mom, which he’s apparently noticed.
“This ain’t no episode of Teen Mom. He needs a manly name. Like Zeus or Thor.”
“I like Loki. Loki is a bad-ass name.”
“Or even… wait. It’s reverse psychology is what this is. You wanna make me pick out a name and then we’ll end up with another dog. I have you figured out, you know.”
*ting* went my non-existent tooth when I smiled… again. “YOU brought it up! NOT ME!”
So he changes the subject and says, “if you feel better tomorrow, I’ll take you to see The Hobbit. How’s that?”
“I’d love to see The Hobbit.”
“On one condition?”
“That I not name the dog Bentley?”
“That you not pick the movie apart, and you stop working your super powers on me.”
“Never!”
Bentley, people. BENTLEY. How cute would that be?
*snicker*
Snicker-smirking. Ting.
We really don’t need another dog, but I love watching the hubs squirm when he can’t figure out if I’m serious or not. 🙂
I saw that you’d lost your tooth on FB. Did you see my recent post on teeth? My son lost his last milk-tooth on the day of the Sandy Hook shooting. I hope you have a great new year. Maybe dental issues will be your worst issue in 2013.
Yes, I did see the post–I got smart and set immediate email alerts for when my favorite people post something new because otherwise my scatter-brain will never keep up. Man, do I feel you about holding on. My kiddo is 21 and tomorrow is New Year’s Eve. I know she’s responsible, but I’m chewing my nails to nubs.
*weep*
I can’t imagine it. Plus, he’ll probably think I’m annoying and never call.
Have I missed the obvious wordplay here? You lost your canine tooth. Lose a canine, gain a canine. You could name both your tooth and dog Bentley.
omg… how funny. The hubs just told me this morning, swear to gods, that I could keep the tooth and name it Bentley.