It's been a busy few days, and more to come. Daughter one and I are prowling around San Francisco looking at apartments - and anything else that we find interesting - so I just don't have any extra brain cells to spare to write new posts. Instead, I've resurrected some of my oldies but goodies. Here's one of my favorites:
Gee thanks. Wish that actually translated into a free crown or two.
Lack of spit does disgusting things to one's teeth.
Nitrous oxide, however, makes all things tolerable in the dentist's chair. Not only tolerable, but even mildly amusing. I was trying to hum "Yellow Submarine" around at least a pound of gauze and another two pounds of hardware. I love nitrous.
The dentist was called away mid-procedure, so I was left alone for a few minutes blissfully babbling and inhaling deeply.
In my warm fuzzy little drug induced cloud, two large red objects swam in and out of view, capturing my attention. Well, good golly. They were shoes. MY shoes. I had never noticed before how attractive they were, even if they were a dainty size eleven. (I am not kidding - size eleven. I have some serious real estate attached to the end of my legs). Dang, I thought. I have great taste in shoes.
When Dr. E. returned, I was engrossed in examining every detail of those shoes. Red canvas. White stitching. Elastic curly laces. Who knew they were so interesting??
As Dr. E. returned to my chair, I shoved one foot near his face and declared, "Would you just LOOK at these shoes? These are great shoes. Wonderful shoes. They're my very luckiest shoes!"
Well, that's what I said. Actually, what came out of my mouth around all the equipment probably sounded like "wffwwuuuulOOOOOOkshOOOz!!!"
Dr. E. deftly reached past the floating size elevens and turned down the nitrous. Rats.
He still asks me where my lucky shoes are each time I visit.
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