A Double Shot Please

“Ah found wike a muff mouf,” I said. “What was that?” asked the dentist. I repeated slowly, “I found,… wike-a,… MUFF MOUF!” I was trying desperately to say that I sounded like a mush mouth, but after just one shot it wasn’t working out all that well. You see, sometime back, a filling came out. But since it wasn’t bothering me, I didn’t bother it. I thought we had an agreement. But the tooth must be a Democrat because the agreement turned into an infection a few weeks ago, with the pain spreading down my neck and up to my ear. So, after picking up the shiny new truck, my dispatcher was kind enough to get me back to the home country to see the family dentist.

My mom recommended him. Said he was very kind, quite gentle, and very reasonable financially. She was right, of course. And he has a great sense of humor too. After the next shot, I mumbled, “I fee wike dwoowing idiot.” “I’ve dealt with a few of those,” the dentist laughed. “Dey vote too,” I answered.

Then, with my mouth so numb that I thought the left side of my face might slide off, the dentist asked, “So tell me about the website you write for?” My eyes cut toward him as if to ask if he was kidding. I think they do get sadistic pleasure from this,… but why not play along?

“Wicoshay,” I answered.


“Wick-o-shay, wike a gun shot.”

“Oh, Ricochet!” 

“Uh huh, dat’s wha ah said!”

“And it’s a….”

“Consubatib site,…. by Petuh Wobinson and Wob Wong. Wobinson wote da Buwin speech for Weagun. You know, … ‘Mistuh Gobutoff teau down dis wau,’ …ya know, dat guy?”

“Oh, him!”

“Uh huh. And Wob Wong, he’s Howweewood guy, pwodoos Cheeaus, Suwiban and Son, dose shows.”


“And it’s sibil site. Vewy fwiendwy, because peeepuh pay to wite and convuss wif each odduh. Dey got academacs, wawyuhs, pwofessuhs, powiticians, gobnuhs, Pat Sayak, Rooput Mudock, Wichud Ebsteen, and a twucka too.”

Then, the dentist surmised it was time for more shots. They no longer use those big horse syringes, opting instead for a little ink pen looking contraption that has a small tube extending from the top to a little box that dispenses the numbing medication. Much less painful than I remember.

“Here’s some Listerine to rinse with and get rid of that bad aftertaste.”

“Ya dot Dack Daniels?”

“Just Listerine.”

The delightful lady assistant allowed as how she wanted to offer liquor flavored cotton swabs, but the dentist wouldn’t allow it.

“You Pwude,” I said to the dentist. After the laughter died down, he said it was time to remove the tooth.

Then he took what appeared to be a little scoop, and commenced to digging around the base of the thing. There was no pain, though I did startle a bit when it popped and cracked. But within less than a minute, he reached for the pliers and easily lifted it out. Mission accomplished.

Next came the Vicodin and antibiotics, which did to my motor skills what the shots had done to my speech. My dear Mom searched dutifully for some soft food for me at the store, while I wafted over to the toy section and located a self-infalting whoopee cushion. I wasn’t very steady on my feet, but I was effective with that cushion so that every time a particular lady took a step,…well, never mind. Then a couple of birds flew into the store and I was captivated like a bug-eyed moonie on mushrooms. It’s funny how I can sip bourbon all night and stay just as composed as plaster of paris, but give me a baby aspirin and it’s lights out sweet prince.

Then, a lady called my name. It turned out to be someone that knew me many years ago. I tried to straighten up long enough to complete a sentence without sounding like a complete dolt, but I doubt I pulled it off. It’s nice seeing people after a few decades, but a bit disconcerting when they see you strung out and talking like Elmer Fudd on pain killers.

Today, things are healing nicely and I’m able to dial back the pain meds a bit, which allows me to stay upright long enough to write this sober-minded account. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go wie down a wittle while.