Ora-hell

I had two teeth pulled last week. I now have about six and a half remaining and am waiting on two bridges, an implant and a partridge in a pear tree in January.  Four thousand dollars later and I’ll be chewing with the best of them.

In the meantime, I have experienced my first dry socket and the blessing of knowing heaven is just another sin away.  I have yelled out so many expletives in the last two days, I have been excommunicated from not only the church, but all of Guernsey County, Ohio.  I just went off on a little, old lady at the grocery for blocking my path to the “Oragel”.

Speaking of “Oragel” – please be advised that when you purchase this God blessed tooth pain relief, you better have a sharp knife to cut the tube or you may be screwed.  After knocking down the dear little blue haired lady blocking my path to the check out, I threw a twenty down for the pimple faced teen at the check out – told him to keep the change – cussed Santa Claus at the Salvation Army kettle – and rushed to my car.  Relief was only seconds away.

But no!  Or make that – Hell No!  The tube required a sharp knife to cut away the tip.  Who carries a sharp knife these days?  Not this loser with the dry socket.  I have about twelve really sharp knives at home six hours from here – but I needed the thing NOW!

My only choice was to start gnawing away at the end with two of my remaining good teeth.  I twisted and turned and pulled so hard on the tube that, apparently, I busted out a large opening and the sweet tooth nectar came pouring into the side of my mouth. The only problem was that it was the wrong side of my mouth and now I was still in pain and had half of my mouth drooping like I had just had a stroke.  I worked the goo from one side of my pie hole to the other and, finally, felt the pain subside.  By this time, I had Oragel all over the front of my shirt and had even managed to get some up my nose.  Oragel ain’t no joke.

I was going to stop and eat a Big Mac since my mouth was completely numb, but my face is paralyzed and I am fairly sure the pimple faced kid behind the counter at McDonalds will never understand my order.

Screw it.  I’m going home.

Wuv oo, Teve!

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2 thoughts on “Ora-hell

  1. I know you do not know me. I am Gayle McDonald. James Morris’s Aunt. I just want you to know how much I enjoy your stories. I am grieving over the lost of my husband and you sure can make me laugh. Thank you so much.

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