Yes, yes… I know that the Republicans got dragged out behind the political woodshed and soundly thumped. I know Rummy was sent packing, and that Bush clearly lied last week about keeping Dick & Don for 2 more years. I know Brittany told K-Fed she was K-Fed-Up via text message. And while all these things make me happy, my joy is overshadowed by the pall my dentist has cast on my rapidly deteriorating self.

Dr. Pain has informed me that I need to have my first major dental work. I need a crown to replace a tooth which has been repaired so often it has more bondo than my old ’69 Buick. I apparently broke it again, and he thinks I need to trade it in on something new and shiny.

Okay, so I recognize that this should not be a big deal. I know many readers have undergone far more extensive dental work than this. Hell, my mother’s mouth has more bridges than Madison county. I, myself, have had several bones drilled, pinned, screwed, and otherwise surgically reassembled. But I am a self-avowed dental wimp.

I attribute my wimpishness to bad childhood experiences with a drunken three-fingered dentist who practiced in the back room of the local paint & wallpaper store. And no, I don’t hold my mom and dad responsible. He was reasonably priced and they subjected themselves to this as well. Besides, having been raised a Catholic, I just assumed this was God’s penance for all those impure thoughts.

But the scars remain, regardless of how irrational they are. I still dread having my teeth cleaned. I know my new and competent dentist explained the crown replacement procedure to me. I’m sure his words were professional, clinical, and benign. But what I heard was… I would be called in and strapped to a chair for 3 hours. They would insert all manner of implements of pain and destruction into my mouth in order to grind my poor innocent tooth to a bloody raw stump. Then they’d put a hardtop band-aid on it and send me home to think about what a bad boy I had been. Then I’d be called back for a fitting during which they would rip the band-aid off and poke at the exposed nerve until I passed out. Finally, I’d be called back a third time where they would once again rip off the temporary cap and then hammer, saw, drill, and epoxy the new custom crown in place.

The only upside was that they assured me the new tooth would be the same dingy coffee stained color as the rest of my mouth… unless I wanted it in gold. Hmmmm…

I haven’t made the appointment yet. I’m currently waiting for an estimate of how much of this my insurance will cover, and thinking of reasons why I should put this off until after the holidays… or until after I’m dead.