Way back when I was in for my dental cleaning, the hygienist was admonishing me for my lack of ritual flossing. Yes, yes, I know I’m supposed to, but I didn’t grow up flossing, I don’t like it, and well… I could go on rationalizing, but the reality is, I just don’t. But I admitted that to her. Honesty should count for something, right?

Anyway, this is the same girl that spotted my cracked tooth which resulted in me having to to be ground and fit with a new crown. I don’t have the final fake tooth yet, and have been sporting this temporary crown that I’ve decided is my hygienist’s revenge.

You see, the damn thing is a wee too small. There’s enough room behind this puppy to park half a ham sandwich and a ’69 Buick. The result is that after eating pretty much anything, I need to break out the floss. Damn her! She’s more clever than I ever imagined