Hello everyone! I know…it’s been over a month since I last wrote a blog post. Don’t think I’ve been whooping it up on the French Riviera or anything too exotic. I started to get a sore throat right before the holidays, but it eventually went away and came back full force on Christmas Eve. By New Year’s Day it had turned into a rager of a cold, so I went to the Doctor for antibiotics.
Last week was the first time in over a month that I actually felt healthy. I was happy, back to myself again, and ready to start 2019 with a bang.
Of course, life likes to throw curveballs at me, which leads us to the topic of today’s blog post.
[insert ominous scary music here, please]
Today, I’d like to share a little story of the events that unfolded in my life yesterday. Yes, everything that you’re about to read is true. Yes, I have a flair for the dramatic, that’s why I write books.
Once upon a time (Yesterday at lunch), I was all set to eat the same food I eat every day. Yes, I’m a creature of habit. Lunch consists of a peanut butter sandwich, half a Yoplait yogurt, and half a candy bar. My favorite candy bar in the entire world is a plain dark chocolate bar. Not that bitter 97% cacao shit, but just a simple dark chocolate. They sell them at a grocery store in a town where my husband works. He commutes to work every day and this grocery store is HUGE and has low prices, so he sometimes stops on the way home and picks up items we need. My candy bars of awesomeness are normally specially priced at two for a dollar. Pretty cheap in today’s market. Well, he saw that they were THREE FOR A DOLLAR on super, super clearance and he picked me up a couple.
Yes, I consider thirty to be ‘a couple.’ If you’ve been following along, you’ll know we’re hoarders and stock up on sale items. This is 2019 and it’s virtually unheard of to get a solid full sized chocolate bar for 35 cents. My husband loves me very much and knew I would freak out at such a candy windfall. Some people have a tendency to eat a whole bag of chips, a whole package of cookies, etc. I am not one of them. I have no problem at all eating half a candy bar per day. I tend to be a creature of habit and do most things in moderation. (Except for complain. I complain often and very vocally. It’s who I am!) So it’s all good.
Ahem. Back to the original story.
[cue some more sinister music because we’re getting to the bad part]
I always eat dessert first, because there’s a .000001 percent chance I might somehow die while eating the main course. Hey, it could happen. So I bit into my candy bar while spreading the peanut butter on the bread for my sandwich. (No, I do not eat jelly. It’s strictly peanut butter on both slices of bread. That’s how I roll.)
I’m happily chewing away, but then I notice that the bar has a strange consistency like that of a nestle crunch. Something is crunchy. What the hell is this abomination? It’s a PLAIN DARK CHOCOLATE BAR with no add-ins.
I forced myself to spit the candy bar into my hand for a further examination. When I use the word ‘forced’ it’s only because I had a two second internal debate beforehand.
“Do I really need to spit this out? It takes good.”
“The candy bar is not supposed to crunch, asshole. Spit it out!”
Lo and behold, upon further inspection, there is a white chunk of something mixed in with the chewed up candy bar comfortably resting in the palm of my hand.
Can you guess what it is?
If you said, “It’s a chunk of your tooth, genius!” then you were absolutely correct.
Let me further explain that these candy bars are of the highest quality ingredients, very thick, and very dense. They are not soft bars at all. Yet that fact does not stop me from jamming them into my mouth like I haven’t eaten in a week.
So, I saw the tooth chunk, immediately knew what it was and why it had broken off from the hardness of the bar, and began a tongue exploration of my mouth.
Fuck. A pea sized chunk of my upper back molar had broken right off. Did it hurt? No. Was I in any pain at all? No. Did I realize I was totally fucked? Absolutely. The tooth had a jagged edge and I knew I couldn’t just pretend nothing had happened and go on with my life.
I called the dentist. Let me also explain that I hadn’t been to the dentist in nine years. Yet, strangely enough, I had to go last month for a baby tooth root that was stuck in my sinus. (After closer inspection, it doesn’t need to be removed. I thought I was home free and done with the dentist for another nine years. This is sadly not the case anymore!) The dentist could get me in that same day, but I made an appointment for a few days later with the excuse of needing time to mentally prepare.
The next step was to call my husband. I usually call him on his cell phone at work roughly once every two months. Therefore, a call from me means something catastrophic happened.
“Hi, I’m okay but I’m really upset. I chipped my tooth!”
(Whenever I call someone at an odd time, I always start with, “I’m okay,” lest they think I’m dying and freak out in a panic. However, as soon as I start with “I’m okay,” they usually know there’s a ‘but’ coming after that statement. The objective is to simply let them know it’s not an emergency and no one is near death.)
I explained what happened and told my husband I was never eating one of those candy bars again. I have about twenty-seven of them left. Naturally his first response was, “Yes, you ARE eating the rest of those!”
He proceeded to tell me that I probably needed a crown, he’s had several, and I’d be fine. After googling crowns (I never had one!) and deciding it was probably serious, I changed the dentist appoint to a few hours later. The guy filed down the jagged edges and scheduled me for a crown next week. Crowns are not cheap, but we have some coverage from dental insurance, so it’s not as bad as it could be. That’s beside the point.
What’s the point then?
I decided I’m never eating hard food again. You can take apples, pretzels, and candy bars right off my list of foods I like. Upon later thought, I added cucumbers and carrots to the list. Peanuts should be on there, too. The list is ever-growing by the second. I had French fries for supper and some of them had crispy edges. This sparked another internal debate.
“These French fries have crispy ends that are probably totally dangerous for my fragile old-lady teeth.”
“So you’re not going to eat another French fry for the rest of your life? You’re forty-two, dumbass! That’s not even an option!”
“Valid argument. I’ll just try and remember to be really, really careful when eating fries in the future.”
We’re almost to the end of the blog post, but I need to mention one more tiny detail that really pisses me off and literally adds insult to injury. Even though I specifically put my tooth chunk on the kitchen table under a note that said, “Chipped my tooth,” the lazy rotten Tooth Fairy didn’t leave me one dime for the thing! Uppity bitch just left it sitting there as though it wasn’t good enough for her. Of all the nerve!!!
Have a great week and please be careful. It’s a dangerous world out there.
Til next time!