Currently, I’m teething.
My lower right wisdom tooth is trying its best to do a Tim Robbins at the end of Shawshank Redemption impression. I can imagine that little bugger expects an epic Thomas Newman swell once it finally breaks through the surface, but I’m not going to give it that pleasure, no. You don’t deserve anything other than instant removal from my face, wisdom tooth! You’re just lucky that I can’t afford to do that right now.
Neither can I afford ten cavities filled, a permanent crown put in or extraction of two other wisdom teeth (one is fully exposed, another looks like a drunken missile haphazardly trying to navigate it’s way through my gums and the other never existed at all). This fact often drives me into a depressed state where I begin contemplating how easy or hard it would be to remove the teeth myself. If Tom Hanks can do it with a rock on a remote island, why can’t I?
When I get too worked up about the whole situation, I think about a recent conversation I had with a panhandler in where he asked me for some cash. I apologized and told him that like most irresponsible people my age, I don’t carry cash on me. I explained that I did have candy in my pocket and I would be happy to share with him.
He stared at me point blank and said, “Girl, I have seven teeth in my mouth.” I told him that I understood, that I was quickly on the same path and that if I saw him again one day and did have cash on me, I would give it to him. He gave me a high five, told me that he loved me and we went our separate ways.
The cost of dental care in America sucks ass…