Another day, another dentist

It seems to me that at least once a year I find myself sitting with my mouth open, being tortured by one or more dentists. It's not for nothing that various horrors are described as "worse than a root canal."

Well, I'm well past the root canal phase. Never mind how I got there, but I am now condemned to wear a temporary, removable bridge for the next six months. The nasty thing feels something like a gigantic hunk of chewing gum stuck to the roof of my mouth. Or like an enemy alien has come to live in my mouth. Only worse. I hate it. It's also funny-looking, with a long canine tooth that does not match my own teeth and makes me look like a vampire. Great for Halloween.

I have to take care of this obscene object. It must be kept in water, like a live goldfish. I'm not supposed to chew anything hard. Believe me, there is no temptation to do so. I don't think I will ever attempt to chew again.

Now I know why my grandmother hated to wear her false teeth. She generally kept them in a pocket of her housedress except on ceremonial occasions.