Take a shot of Jameson Irish Whiskey and add it to a pint of hard cider (I like Hornsbys) and then enjoy. That’s
One of the good things about being an adult, is that sometimes you don’t have to do things that you don’t want to. For instance, I have never popped the screens out of my windows and washed them. (This was a regular part of spring cleaning when I was growing up.) Nor do I bother to make the bed most mornings. (Sorry, Mom. You tried.)
On the flip side, being an adult also means doing stuff that you don’t want to do, because you know that you need to. Like making doctor’s appointments. And dentist appointments.
Especially dentist appointments.
I hate going to the dentist.
I don’t remember how old I was… 5? 6? 7? It was early grade school, anyway. The way that I remember it happening, I was running up the steps at school. It was winter, the stairs were icy, I slipped, and I hit my mouth on the metal handrail. One of my front teeth was chipped. (You can still see the chip if you look) My parents took me to the dentist, and he smoothed out the chip. That tooth wasn’t the problem. The tooth next to it was the hidden problem. The blow had severed the nerve as the base of the root, but we wouldn’t know about that for 10 or so years.
Time passed. I lost my baby teeth, got adult teeth. I got cavities, and had them filled. I got braces, and then had a series of retainers.
Then in high school I got a terrible, painful toothache. Turns out that it was the tooth with the severed nerve. It had gotten infected. If it hadn’t gotten infected, I wonder how long it would have gone unnoticed?
I got a root canal.
In college, I had persistent trouble with the root canal. The filling kept falling out, among other things.
So I got a crown. (According to the dentist, crowns really only have a shelf life of 10 or so years. At the time I decided to just not hear that… I was pretty sick of dentists.)
10+ years pass. Then I have some problems with the crown, which is well past its expiration date. My current dentist fixes the crown, warns me that it could fail at any time, and strongly urges that I get an implant.
I don’t want to get an implant. I have to get an implant. Basically, at this point, I have no other options.
So I got a consult with an oral surgeon, and made an appointment to get the first stage of an implant. The surgery is this coming Tuesday morning.
I don’t want to have oral surgery. I hate the fact that the process for getting an implant takes so long and that with the multiple surgeries and healing time, it will probably be close to the end of the summer before the process is complete. But I have to have it. No other options. So I am having oral surgery.
Goddammit, sometimes I hate being a responsible adult.