The Old Coot can smile again.
By Merlin Lessler
I chipped my front tooth the other day. It’s been with me,
and intact, since I was seven. I did it when I bit into a plum and smashed into
the pit. Unlike little Jack Horner who pulled out a plum, I pulled out a piece
of ivory. I’ve broken a molar or two over the years. One on an un-popped,
popcorn kernel. Another, in a tug of war with a Sugar Daddy. It yanked out the
entire side of the tooth that was held together with a few pins and a filling. It’s
since been fitted with a $1,000 cap. The Sugar Daddy is a thing of the past for
me.
The chipped front tooth has been fixed, thanks to the skills
of my dentist whose name I promised not to mention. But for some reason I never
follow through on that promise. It’s Pam Bouton. She’s bailed me out more than
once. I’m sure she is astonished at the lengths I go to threaten the existence
of those precious ivories. Most likely thinking, “Will he ever learn?” But I
know what she’s thinking; I recognize the look. I see it on my wife’s face all
the time. It doesn’t matter, I can now continue through life with a smile on my
face, framed by an intact set of choppers.
The trouble with a decent smile, is you are no longer eligible
to be a spokesperson for your town after a weather disaster hit: tornado,
flood, hurricane, landslide. That sort of thing. You can’t be the guy the TV
news reporter looks for to ask your thoughts on the disaster. They seek the
goober who has a broken or missing set of choppers. He or she, always scratches
their head and says, “I’ve lived here all my life and never saw anything like
this. Nope, I no longer qualify, thanks to the skills of Pam Bouton.
Comments? Send to the paper or to mlessler7@gmail.com
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