Don't worry. We'll just explode it and break the pieces out. 


The worst thing that had ever happened to me at the dentist was being given the wrong bookmark as a kid. I really wanted a glittery one but I got a beige angel.

I had never been introduced to drills, hooks or the other buzzing thingamajigs that I sometimes caught a glimpse of on a tray but never really questioned. I proudly told people when I was going to the dentist because I genuinely thought everybody had the same experience aka you're a good girl here's a bookmark. In my mid twenties I still knew nothing except I stopped getting bookmarks a long time ago and once my gums started bleeding a little when she poked it with a needle thing.

Then my bottom wisdom teeth suddenly showed up for the biennial photoshoot, like that strange relative you stopped inviting because they never show up and when they do they never leave. They were growing forwards, not upwards, pushing everything together in the front. So we decided to pull them out, me, my loyal but now crowded front teeth and the headache I started waking up with (not the bf). I was sent to a specialist for a reason they let me in on when I was laying on the table with all those not previously introduced instruments from the tray hanging in my mouth. Now it gets gooey people.


The roots were twisted around the nerves in my jaw, they were holding on with everything they had in the pennant banners of my mouth party and the task to get them out was quickly deemed "let's get Dr Johnson". I don't really remember her name. Don't worry, she said. We'll just explode it and break the pieces out. Enter mental picture: Wile E Coyote, dynamite and the Listerine commercial from 2007. One cannot simply pull a tooth hanging in the face nerves. I was scared but tried my best to look worldly despite my instrument bedazzled mouth tinkling from trembles.

Everything went well after all but I really should have stocked up more on liquid food because I was mostly very hungry. And I didn't get a bookmark.