I Am Not A Pretty Girl

So my day f***ing sucked. I have had some dental issues over the past week, but I thought I was moving to a better place when I went to get my front tooth (#9) pulled this am. It's a long grueling process that began with a car accident 14 years ago, but today I thought, "At least I can eat normally again." (I further broke #9 last Monday biting into a slice of mushroom pizza). Not so true. Butch that I am, I told the dentist I wouldn't need Novocain; thankfully he corrected my naivete and reminded me as he was twisting pliers in my numbed mouth as he seemed to be trying to pull out the cartilage in my nose, "Aren't you glad you got the Novocain." I made it through the 15 minutes it took to get the root out, the heinous fake tooth I have while I wait for this to heal, taking it out and looking at the 5 or more stitches holding in the sand that is a "bone graft" (they say my body will turn it to bone), the niceties at reception as I paid my bill. (By the way, my dentist said $1200 on their end, $1200 at the surgeon. The surgeon charged me $550 today and it'll be $1750 for the implant.) Then I said my "thank yous" and "goodbyes" to sob uncontrollably in my car. I cried for the "new tooth" because it's ugly and collects spit all around it. Did I mention I can barely talk with it in, let alone eat? For the next 6 months I cannot eat without being front toothless. I cried for my vanity. I expected to laugh in the mirror, but I was horrified. I cried for the stitches because they made my flesh look necrotic. I cried at my stupidity for thinking I could go to class in 30 minutes or that I would be ready for my meeting this afternoon. I cried 'cos I was so stupid to think I'd be okay and I cried for the stupid tooth. Someone wrenched it from my clenched flesh, like a clam holding onto the seabed for dear life. For the past 11 years I've hated this weird ugly tooth that slowly dropped further and further below its sister and today I wept for it. I really wept for weeping. People die, suffer extreme loss, have their bones poke through their skin, see people they love die and I was sobbing for my disgusting yellow snaggle tooth. For anyone feeling remotely sorry for me, STOP. My sense of humor is back; I mean look at my latest montage. I ranted and raved at Paul and Elizabeth and wowed the panel at my afternoon meeting with my lisp and, believe it or not, my smile. I am mostly me again, but I am also still left to wonder if I'll ever really be me again. P.S. Rain was sick, but is better today. And as he says, "Mom, it's not like I was in an accident." (in response to my self-pity)