Torture

I was tortured today.

When I had my braces taken off, the technician noticed a "small cavity" under where one of the brackets had been.

I put "small cavity" in quotes because she should have called it a freaking huge canyon of food-catching bleakness.

Frankly, I was really pissed off about the whole thing. I had worked really hard to keep my teeth clean while I had those braces. In fact, it felt like I had taken on a part-time hygienist job.

When I finally got to the dentist, he told me that the "small cavity" had developed because my bracket was bonded on with moisture underneath it. This moisture ate away at my tooth for the two and a half years that I had braces.

So it wasn't my fault.

But I still had to go and have a crown put on the tooth today.

And it was torture.

It wasn't the huge needle that he shoved in my gums. It wasn't the distracted assistant who almost pushed me out of the chair with the sucky thing. It wasn't even the unrelenting drilling. (That sounds kind of nice, actually.)

No. It was that the whole time I was in the chair, I was forced to watch The View.

Now, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking:

"Enough about your freaking tooth! I want to hear about the hot plumber!"

Okay. Since I live purely to entertain my dozens of loyal readers, I will tell you about my run in with the hunky plumber.

I just can't do it right now. My face hurts and the kids are running amok. Check back later.