This is not my day.
I had recovered from my terror that I’d had a stroke, I’d gone to the doctor and had a pleasant visit, I abandoned hope of painting today, and picked up some James Herriot books, which I haven’t read in a long time, and which I figured would function as comfort reading. I slouched down on the couch, made some Earl Grey, got a Red Vine, and was working through “All Things Bright and Beautiful,” and just as I was feeling that the universe was perhaps not out to get me and that life was worth living, and no matter how bad things were, at least I wasn’t shoulder deep in the back end of a cow–and my SECOND temporary crown popped off.
I have determined that A) I hit the Tooth Fairy with my car one night, and B) my teeth can smell Friday. They know when it’s coming. They attack just as there is no hope of getting a dentist anywhere on the state. But the licorice’s betrayal was a savage blow. Et tu, Red Vine?
I hauled out the “Dent-Temp” crap that for some reason I have on hand, conducted a little alchemy in the bathroom to mix the cement, and plastered the crown back in place. My lip started burning. I read the manual. In case of burning, remove Dent-Temp and rinse with vegetable oil. Oh. Joy. Some of James’s 100% Extra Virgin olive oil was pressed into service to rinse my lip. James poured out a shotglass. I stared at him. “A paper towel, maybe? I don’t want to do shots.” Except that I had to keep my teeth pressed together to set the cement, so it came out as “Ahayer-owl, ayee? Iohnunnahoo-osh.” James stared at me blankly. He’s a good man, but he does need consonants. I gesticulated wildly. This appeared to work. Olive oil did the trick.
Inside of my mouth seemed okay. Fingerprints appeared to have been filled in with dental cement. Began scrubbing out fingerprints. If I commit any major crimes, I’ll probably regret this moment as they’re hauling me away, but still, didn’t seem right. Inside of mouth started to burn. Curses! Tried to remove Dent-Temp as suggested. Hmm. Dent-Temp works quickly. It will take a crowbar, or perhaps toast, to get it off now. Sonuvabitch. Well, it wasn’t burning too badly. Surely it’d be fine once everything set. I gargled a few more times.
“You could gargle with olive oil,” James suggested. I looked at him. He remembered urgent business elsewhere, perhaps trying to locate some of those missing consonants. Glumly, I settled on the couch. Burning mostly subsided. Okay. I can handle this. I’ll keep an eye on things, make sure there’s no swelling or weird reaction. If it comes off again, it can stay off. It’s not like the tooth hurts or anything. Monday I’ll call and make an appointment to get the damn crown, insurance company pre-billing be damned. If they won’t pay for it, eh, life is hard all over.
And at least I’m STILL not shoulder-deep in the back end of a cow.