The work day came and went. Dinner was served. Coffee was made. Pajamas were donned.
A day cannot get any more ordinary than that. But I am all about ordinary.
In fact, I am the Alexander the Great of ordinary. I suppose that makes me Alexander the Ordinary. Biff the Bleh.
If you are looking for extraordinary, I am afraid you will have to look elsewhere. I heard that the blog just around the corner is offering Extraordinary at reduced rates. Tell them I sent you and you will get an additional 5% off.
The only thing unusual about today is that I started it off in a dentist’s chair. No, nothing horrible happened that landed me there. It was just time for one of my biannual cleanings. Or was it bicuspid cleanings? Either way, there was much scraping and burnishing of the ol’ ivories.
Things went well. My hygienist was Chatty Cathy and talked to me a great deal while I had all sorts of things in my mouth, including most of her hand. I’m not sure how she expected me to answer. I tried semaphore, but the flags kept interfering with the suction hose. I tried blinking in Morse Code, but she doesn’t speak Morse Code. It was more like Morose Code.
Eventually I settled on unintelligible grunts just to let her know I was listening. What choice did I have? It is hard to be eloquent when ice cold water is being sprayed onto a particularly cold-sensitive molar.
After all of the real work was done, the dentist breezed in and looked at my chipped molar that I had told them about upon my arrival. I chipped it several months ago. I remember waking up in the middle of the night just in time to realize I was swallowing a piece of tooth. I had been dreaming that I was chewing on sand and grit.
Isn’t the human mind a wonderful thing? Rather than telling you that you are in the process of chewing on and swallowing a fragment of tooth, it just leads you to believe that you are chewing on gravel, which, in the context of the dream, is completely normal. The Biff in my dream was like, “Oh yes. I quite frequently chew on gravel. It is high in riboflavin, cobalamin, and granite.”
Anyway, the dentist looked at the space where part of my tooth had been and said I’d have to come in on another day to have it filled. It really hasn’t been bothering me, other than the fact that my tongue freaked out the morning following the chippage. “Oh my gosh!” it screamed in a high-pitched voice. “A gigantic chunk of our mouth is gone! Things will never be the same again! We are surely doomed!” (My tongue can be quite dramatic.)
I talked it off the ledge eventually, though it is just now deciding that having a chip in my tooth is normal. Soon it will be alarmed at the unwelcome appearance of a piece of faux tooth.