where the writers are
The truth of a toof, more or less
Puppy Dance

     “But, Mom, wassa toof?  Don’t know what toof is?”  The puppy has great concerns now that I’ve had my wisdom tooth extracted, since I can’t talk well and she is, after all, adept at communication.  Or considers herself to be.

     “Sound it out, Mom. T---ooo---ffff?  Sounds like tofu.  I really enjoy a good tofu snack every now and then.  A little Asian key-sine.  We got any?  Is it tofu you’re tryin’ to say?  Speak up, Mom.  Cat gotcha tongue?”  A long-standing puppy joke of which my darling never tires.  She rolls on the floor, chuckling her puppy-chuckle.  “Hickety, hickety, hickety.”  I am not amused.

     “Ya know, Mom, all those nice folks who said nice things about me on the ‘puter screen, you gotta answer them.  It’s been too long.  They’re your friends.  It’s not polite.  I know these things.  You’re lazy, lazy, lazy.  People won’t like you.”  The puppy raises her brows in condescension, pursing her lips, instilling guilt.  She has morphed into Great Aunt Agnes!  My brain is very, very fuzzy, and there is an insistent throbbing in my head despite the residual Lidocaine numbness. 

    “Miiieeee toooooffff hoooorts.  Glumb.  Glub.”  At the moment I have a mouthful of rather bloody gauze packed into the side of my cheek and my own communication skills have been better.  “Eiiieee goombbng taaa baaadddd.  Glub.”   Why in hell should I explain my condition to the puppy anyhow?  All I want is a lovely pill and an even lovelier soft pillow, some mindless television and lights out. 

      “What ya got in your mouth, Mom?  Ya look a little dumb, if you ask me.  Like one of those singing chipmunks, ‘member?  I’ll play ya some music.  It’ll make ya feel better.”  In a moment of holiday stupidity, last week I bought the puppy a singing Alvin doll which she, bless her clever little paws, can activate into singing hysteria with a mere flick of her wrist.  Which she does often.  Which she does now. 

     When last I glimpse her highness, she is whooping it up with Alvin, dancing the Puppy-Stomp, chortling along in a blackboard-fingernails falsetto, “Chreeeestmaaaas doon’t beeeee laaaate.”  Me, at this point, I couldn’t give a rat’s ass.  Ah, lovely Vicodin.  Ah, sweet sleep.

     And to all a good night.   

Comments
4 Comment count
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Worth the wait!

Hi Mara,

You made me, a Josh, and a Lainey very happy with this blog.

We missed you!

Happy Holidays!
Mary Walsh

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You tell John that the puppy

You tell John that the puppy has been so busy making fun of her Mom’s tooth pain that she hasn’t been writing much recently, but she did sing a special verse of The Chipmunk’s Christmas Song just for him. 

Have a lovely holiday!  M

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Dentistry

I have a co-worker who is very vocal in shunning pain killers in favour of natural remedies - in fact she shuns just about anything 'medical'

Interesting though, when she recently visited the dentist for an extraction, I asked ' I take it you chose not to have the anaesthetic?' She sheepishly acknowledged that dentistry 'didn't count'

I so laughed - the ultimate test I think.

Hope the mouth gets better soon.

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On the mend

Dental pain needs something a bit stronger than chanting and herbal teas, at least mine does ---   all those lovely exposed nerves, generously sharing their impulses! Gimme drugs!

 Thanks for returning a chuckle with a chuckle.