Teeth

I barely remember having front teeth. I lost them as a kid late in elementary school. I'd come in after recess to rehearse some school assembly or other, hot and sweaty after a kickball game. Standing in the front row at the edge of the stage, I fainted and fell on the floor, knocking out my front teeth. The family story has it that on the ambulance trip to the hospital I called for my girlfriend at the time. I can't believe I was a romantic sap at such a young age.

So I wore a temporary bridge for a while and then a permanent one. So not having front teeth is nothing new to me.

I find myself today more comfortable with the flipper out than in, which means around the house I'm front-toothless. I'll be working in the yard this morning without the flipper, for example. Apparently my pattern will be to put it in only when I venture out into the world. In June I get a new permanent bridge.

I'm sure you were eager to learn that. Jeez.

I once dated a girl with a removable bridge and I kept asking her to let me see her without her teeth but she never would. I tried to trick her into it, too, but never succeeded. She guarded that secret with her life. I think it's not only a matter of vanity but of age. At mine, I think I rather couldn't give a fuck, to use the vernacular. I recall a story an L.A. buddy tells, about how he drove across town to a banquet for something or other, and only after he got there did he realize, I forgot to put in my teeth! I can dig it. Indeed, I think one of the stories in Nails In My Coffin, which I am damn eager to begin!, will be about an old guy who misplaces his teeth and the adventure he and his buddies go on to find them.

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Meanwhile I got some piano practice in this morning, and I'm about to do the same with the uke, working on a new song. Supposed to hit the mid-70s today ... I'll be outside enjoying it. Think we'll go to the Corbett Fish House for a late lunch.