Cavity: (n) a decayed part of a tooth.
I was a fully grown man with bills and everything when a dentist was finally honest with me.
He looked into my mouth, peering at cavities, and produced a slight grimace. Being a good Mid-Western boy, I closed my jaw and quickly
apologized for my bad teeth.
He just smiled at me and said, “There’s nothing you can do about it. Some people are born with good teeth. And some people keep me in business.”
I have used floss, every kind of toothpaste known to man, and I’ve even brushed my teeth with baking soda.
Them tooths just do what they want to do.
I feel like my teeth stopped at an emotional age of about fifteen years of age, and they just lounge around, do whatever they please, and only become upset if you bother them too much.
So several years ago, when I asked my dentist what he thought about the teeth that remained in my mouth, the same chap replied, “Do for them what you can. But I wouldn’t be in any hurry to put dentures in there, because they’re a real pain in the ass. Well actually, pain in the head.”
So my teeth and I have a truce: they agree not to bother me as long as I abstain from peanut brittle.
Published by Jonathan Cring