Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Finale teeth.




I did something yesterday that I haven't done in about five years. I went to the dentist. Kicking and screaming, mind you, but I went.

It's important to go the dentist, and I felt it was the responsible thing to do. And Meg made me. Turns out, I didn't have anything more than a "pre-cavity," which is like saying I didn't have anything wrong at all. And after a thorough cleaning, my teeth look like they're brand spanking new.

So I guess I don't have to go back for another five years, right?

If evolution really knew what it was doing, we would have three sets of teeth in our lifetime; baby teeth, adult teeth and finale teeth. Maybe the finale teeth would come in somewhere in your late thirties, early forties or so. And if you couldn't take care of THOSE, then you deserve dentures.

So if someone died in their twenties, the mourners could say, "he never got to live long enough to see his finale teeth. If only that root canal hadn't killed him"

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