You think if I run screaming from the office like I did once at the doctor’s when I was a kid, I could get away without having the tooth pulled?
Think if I tell the nurse “It didn’t work last time” when she makes me take my necklace off to prevent infection, she’ll get mad at me? (I got an abscess, and it wasn’t the necklace’s fault.)
“So when can I start eating rock candy again?” is probably not a good question to ask the periodontist.
I don’t suppose explaining the whole, “No, I’m supposed to be in one piece when I get buried!” will have any effect on the doctor (who is not Jewish).
Thirty-one. Damn. I’m going to have an odd number of teeth. Forget about an implant until either my books take off or I get a full-time job again.
Sigh. Just when I was getting used to chewing on the left side of my mouth again. Oh, well. I won’t have any trouble flossing between those two molars.