I did not name this blog CONFESSIONS OF A TIME TRAVELER because I can travel through time, although if I could travel through time it would kind of be stupid to post it on a blog, opening myself up to experimentation by the CIA or being kidnapped by foreign governments who would want me to go back in time and make sure Hitler won, or that Laika the Spacedog was the first creature to set foot on the moon, forever keeping Americans from landing there because, you know, all the poop that would undoubtably be left behind. Plus a dog skeleton. *
(Pic to the left: Laika the Spacedog in new video game, The Sun at Night, MInicore Studios,
The reason I named my blog CONFESSIONS OF A TIME TRAVELER is because I had planned to write about events that happened in the past, the present, and even the future. Get it? Past. Present. Future. As if we are traveling through time together. In my mind. Anyway, I'm not sure that anyone really understood about the title, because my mind does work strangely sometimes, so I thought I would explain it. You're welcome. And I haven't written on my blog in a long time because, again, strange mind shenanigans.
But then I got INSPIRED and wrote a new post, and this one is about a present day event. (See what I did there? I let you know that this event didn't happen in the past, well, actually, it did happen Tuesday, but that hardly counts as the past. So we are only time traveling a couple of days. Sorry. Next time maybe we'll really go to the past. Well, not really, but in my mind. Sort of.
Anyway -- again -- I wrote this blog in the CAR, that's how excited I was to get back to blogging! So enjoy! It's about rotten teeth. *
*Also, I won't really question God about teeth when I get to Heaven. I mean, humans could have ended up with beaks, so I think I will just say "Thank You, for everything."
Keep scrolling or your teeth will rot out.
TEETH ARE STUPID
First, Happy Texas Independence Day! Remember the Alamo! Wahoo!!
Second, teeth are stupid.
My granddaughter, Mackenzie, reading over my shoulder, just said, "Teeth are not stupid. How could you eat without teeth?"
She has a point. But, I mean, why can’t teeth be made of some kind of impervious, unbreakable, uncavitiable (new word!) material that withstands ANYTHING? IT MAKES NO SENSE! Now, I am of the opinion that God is awesome and has a purpose for everything He created, but this thing about teeth has always stumped me.
What is the point of having teeth that deteriorate? Is it to teach us not to eat sugar? Not to drink Dr. Pepper? (well good luck with that). I mean, think about it--ancient people didn’t have a lot of access to sugar, since it wasn't invented yet, and they still had rotten teeth. And in the medieval times, (not the restaurant, the time period) they had REALLY bad teeth, probably from munching on tree bark and moss and stuff, none of which most of us do. (Actually people at the Medieval Times restaurant might look like they have bad teeth, but it's probably just spinach stuck between their teeth.)
Anyway, I’ve often thought that when I get to Heaven the first thing I’ll ask God is “What’s the deal about teeth?” And every time I think about this, I immediately follow up that thought with—“Wow, you’re gonna be standing in front of God, like the real God, and the first thing you wanna do is take him to task about teeth?” I mean, it would be like saying, “Hey, why did you let people think all this time that there were dinosaurs, when you really just put the fossils there to mess with us?” I mean, it just wouldn’t be polite. Or wise.
Cause, really, when you think about it, it makes perfect sense. Not the dinosaurs, though that does make a lot of sense if you think about it. But I mean, our bodies decay over time, so why not our teeth? Basically, we are disposable units meant to dissolve slowly into a mess of wrinkly skin with stubs of teeth, die, and become dirt.
Now I’m depressed.
Maybe I could phrase my question to God like this: “You know, Lord, it just seems like it might have been more efficient to have teeth more like, oh, I dunno—fingernails—you know, they would continue to grow and sometimes they’d get too long and then I’d have to go to the dentist, whose only job would be to trim my bicuspids so I wouldn’t look all vampirey.” And then I’d smile, really big.
But then, if I’m gonna think like that, then that leads to saying, “Hey why don’t our livers repair themselves and really, bones shouldn’t break, and basically we should be cyborgs or vampires.” (Who heal fast and nothing kills them but the sun and getting their heads cut off. I mention this because I already talked about vampires and wanted to clarify that this is a blog about teeth and not the Undead.)
And by the way, have I mentioned I’m writing this on the way to the dentist to get a root canal?
Why do they call it a root canal? Are they going to dig up my root? OH DEAR GOD, I JUST REALIZED THAT’S WHAT THEY’RE GOING TO DO!!
Maybe this is a good time to mention I have a TERRIBLE Dental Phobia. I have been traumatized—like PTSD trauma—by these people. I’ve been yelled at by dentists—one because I screamed when he stuck a needle into the nerve of my tooth during a root canal and my gums weren’t properly deadened (as I had tried to tell him again and again). Another because apparently I didn’t deserve to have dental care, or as he put it, “You’re a coke addict! I can tell you’re a coke addict and if I fix your teeth they’ll just rot out again because you won’t give up your addiction!”
(At which point I assured him I had never even tried cocaine, to which he replied, “I AM TALKING ABOUT COCA COLA!” To which I replied that I never drank Coca Cola, only Dr. Pepper, and then he glared at me and said venomously, “I am talking about SODAS.” And I had to hang my head in shame, because yes, I am addicted to sodas. “I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot-pole,” he finished, and strode out of the room True story. Also true I am addicted to sodas. Also true this man was/is an ass.)
One dentist ground down my back tooth because I was having pain after a tooth extraction and her xrays showed no problem, and no, I didn’t have dry socket, so she thought my bite was uneven and that’s why I was in excruciating pain. I eventually went to an oral surgeon who found that she had left a piece of tooth in the hole in my gum. Also I had dry socket. The back tooth she ground down hurt for two freaking years. And that’s just three of my tales of dental terror.
And yet, even if I relate these stories, you’d be surprised how most people react when I tell them that the mere thought of walking into a dentist’s office sends me into a cold sweat and an immediate, debilitating anxiety attack: They think I’m a WEINIE. Oh, they don’t say it, (though I have had a dentist’s receptionist tell me I was a coward), but I can see it in their beady little non-compassionate eyes.
Of course, if you tell a dentist you’re phobic about their species (because I’m convinced that they are not of this world, but aliens sent to torture unsuspecting humans--THEY LIVE AMONG US!) they just play dumb. They know that if they acknowledge dental phobia is actually a real thing, then it means they’re doing something wrong. Like not making sure my nerve is numb before starting to drill into my rotten tooth. But basically they chalk it up to my being a WEINIE.
So I expect this from dentists, because they have to cover their own behinds. But normal people—or you know—people—should understand. Because actually, how can anyone not fear going to the dentist? And btw, if someone says they don’t mind going to the dentist to get holes drilled in their teeth, I immediately know they must be working for the CIA: Deny everything. Admit nothing. Or else they are just big, fat, LIARS. (or eventually going to become a dentist)
But let’s assume that most people will admit they don’t like to go to the dentist. So why is it such a giant leap from “Uh, I hate to go to the dentist” to shrieking like a little girl and curling up in the fetal position in the waiting room, refusing to let go of the coffee table leg when the nurse says they are ready for me? (I mean her—whoever this hypothetical person is.)
I mean, it’s just like when I tell people I’m afraid to drive on I-35 in Austin, except without teeth. (Not that I’d be driving without teeth, although if I had dentures, I guess it’s possible I could have left them at home, but don’t even get me started about my phobia on dentures). My point is this: If you aren’t afraid to drive on I-35 in Austin, you are a Crazy Person. And if you aren’t afraid to let some person you barely know drill holes in your sensitive, rotten teeth, then you, sir or madam, are Extra Crazy. (Sort of like extra crunchy chicken, but really, nothing like that.)
Which brings me back to my initial question: Why didn’t we get indestructible teeth in this whole creation of our species thing? (Which, btw, might rock the evolutionary boat a little, I mean, if we were going to have to chaw on Woolly Mammoth wouldn’t we have developed SUPER TEETH?) Well, I guess we’ll never know the answer to my question until (what do you mean unless?) I get to Heaven. And dentists will never get to ask, and will be forfeiting their One Question before they are cast into the lake of fire for all eternity. (Disclaimer: there may be a few exceptions.)
Okay, so, if I do only get one question--with all the stuff going on in our world: poverty, war, disease, psoriasis--am I really going to use my one question to ask God why we didn’t get adamantium teeth?
Heck, yeah. And then I’ll smile. Real big.
Tooth picture by Jurate Virkutiene www.publicdomainpictures.net