Skip to main content

I Can't Feel My Face When I'm With You

October 5th, 2016

Dear Todd,

I think as an adult there are few things I like less than going places to pay to have things fixed. All things; from bikes, to cars, to pets, to teeth, to bodies. I just want things to not be broken so instead of surgery on a dog's stomach, or a new carborator we can go to ANYWHERE ELSE BUT A REPAIR OFFICE and do ANYTHING ELSE BUT GET "REPAIRED."

So yesterday, I went to the "Repair Office of Teeth." They gave me lots of novocaine. Which is great, because no one wants to ever feel anything that sounds like a power drill and makes dust like a power drill billowing out of one's mouth. So they numbed my entire right side. And all I wanted to do was start making Bill Cosby dentist jokes,"I Cabn Feleb My Libbip!"  And then realized that (1) The people in the office may be too young to know the sketch and (2) Cosby is no longer the name you want to drop in any cirucmstance surrounding any form of sedation. Makes you seem creepy. 

And then the whole thing made me sad. Because Bill Cosby was once thought to be a great man and because here I was in a "REPAIR SHOP" being "REPAIRED ON." And the people who were repairing me were talking about their upcoming vacations that I'm no doubt making possible because I got the "weakest link" when it comes to teeth. OR I really love sugar and flossing is not my favorite. Whatever. One of those reasons. 

So they finished the "remodel" and removed the exstensive "metal scaffolding" that was holding my mouth open so they could get to this wonderful and unique location (my cavities seem to reside in rare and hidden destinations--desired by only those with a great passion for spelunking) and sent me to the front desk.

I "charged it!" Cuz that's not real money, and went to the grocery store. The numbing seemed to be getting stronger and I was feeling very weird in public.

Since I coulbn't feeleb my faybace I wabuz graybitful for the sellef- chebeckout.

Whben I gobbit hobome, I wabuz grebeeted by Pebey. Who'b ibis sibick. 
Wheben my faybace comes babck. I willub call the DbOG REBAIR. Sbon of a Bbitch.

Whoboo wabants a kibiss?




Comments

Popular posts from this blog

12 and 3/4

September 22, 2016 Dear Todd, I am writing to tell you that we have a teenager. Rest assurred that in the midst of my own mental deteriation I have not forgotten his birthday. I know that technically, we have another 2 months until his 13th trip around the sun has come to completion...but he is already showing signs. So I have decided to begin documentation. I think it's gonna be a good time, if he can just keep himself alive. And to that effect, I call upon the Gods of Brains with this plea. Oh Mighty Gods Of Wisdom that is Teen, Please put down your iPhone 7's, And all that comes in form of screen. Please look upon those Whom, like a sponge, absorb our changing world But without really thinking, try to process With emotions that come unfurled Let him always choose To look both ways Focus on what he loves And get straight A's? All right, the grades would be An extra perk But, please just let him Understand hard work And let him choose wisely Whe...

Doggy Doggy, Where's Your Bonehead?

September 28th, 2016 Our dog Petey:  He's sitting in the kennel, with me. Why? Why is he in here with me? Why are we both not out in the great big world? Whether that be our living room, backyard, neighborhood, or dog park. Why are we both in this kennel? We can't even play in here. We can't even sleep comfortably.  And everybody is home.  It's not like you all went out and I climbed in here to take a nap. And he lured me in with a treat. What's his excuse? Why is he in here? WHY?!? What we hear: BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK! Woof! Awwoooof! BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK! Me: (upon finding the source of barking and giggling while opening the locked kennel) What the?!? WHY?!?! A: (Laughing still) I don't know.

This Bud's for you

December 14th, 2016 Dear Todd, We went to see the Budweiser Clydesdales yesterday.  It was cool. They are seriously large horses--like Tyranahorses. Pretty sure that's what they're called. Pretty sure. And if I call them that enough, it will stick and they will be known as the Budweiser Tyranahorse, because we are living in a world where we can say whatever the f**k we want and not only will there be no consequence, but the word will be added to Webster's top Fab Five Fictious Phenomenons. But I digress... So we saw the horses. And as we were making our way back past them for the second time--aka "our farewell tour"--practicing our parade waves---one of our children shrieked and proceeded to shame Eric, the Clydesdale.  It would appear that Eric was giving me yet another teaching moment wherein I could explain the origin and meaning of the expression, "Hung like a horse." And so, I'd like to say, "Thank you, Eric. I really don't...