FIRST GRADE TIRADE

Labor Day is here and tomorrow the tykes & teens all over the country should back in class and my mailbox safe until the weekend.

Vividly, I recall my 1st day of school as if it was just last week. Believe it or not, I was actually looking forward! Heck, school sounded exciting! My older friend Sharla often regaled me with her experiences. I felt like I was missing out! I couldn’t wait!

However once I attended, all of that changed drastically. Now I wanted OUT fast!!! It was nothing like what I expected. I hated being awakened from a deep sleep 5 days a week, I missed my morning TV shows (VCRS & DVRS were in the realm of science fiction then), plus it was torture being confined to a seat for long hours, everything that came out of the teacher’s mouth was boring, and the kids were unfriendly. It felt like a prison sentence!

But the 1^st day was filled with excitement!!! Unlike the other kids who were accompanied by their mommies, I was with my dad. I’ve always been a Daddy’s Girl.

The teacher was a frail-looking elderly woman not much taller than us tykes. My father joked that if she ever tried to shake me, just stand rigid and she’d be shaking herself. We chuckled among ourselves.

By far the most defiant kid in class, the one with the worst attitude, who gave the teacher the most problems, was the Sheriff’s son! He sat in the back of the room, alone.

We had double-desks back then and the majority of us had a seatmate. I spotted a girl named Susan whom I knew and seated myself next to her. Six weeks into the school year, Susan along with her family moved to another state.

Instead of leaving my seat vacant as I would have preferred, the teacher relocated a girl named Mary-Lou from across the room. She was another boney blond just like me.

Within minutes, Mary-Lou accused me of filching her pencil! I showed her mine and asked why I would take hers? Well it was missing, so I must have taken it and she was going to tell the teacher! I peered behind her chair. A pencil rested against the outer back leg. I pointed down at it!

I waited for an apology, none was forthcoming. I figured she was just deeply embarrassed. I certainly would have been!

I didn’t attempt any conversation with her after that. Occasionally, she spoke to me, but always negatively. Statements such as, “Aren’t you finished with your assignment, yet? You must really be dumb!” I tried to consider the caliber of person beside me and ignore her.

Only about two weeks passed and her eraser went missing! (We all had giant erasers back then.)I couldn’t believe it; AGAIN she accused me of stealing!!! -- Didn’t she remember what happened with the pencil??? She should have felt like a fool! Mary-Lou was careless with her things, yet her knee-jerk reaction was to blame the nearest person.

She kept raising her voice threatening to tell the teacher. I looked behind our chairs hoping to see it and quiet her down. Unfortunately, it wasn’t there. By this time, she had the attention of the teacher along with the rest of the class.

“Dianne stole my eraser!” she exclaimed, as the teacher walked over. All eyes were on me! I felt myself redden as I declared my innocence.

My desk and lunchbox were searched. I was forced to empty my pockets. And NO eraser was uncovered. -- Mary-Lou probably left it at home!

“Dianne does NOT have your eraser!” the teacher told her.

But Mary-Lou still insisted I did! I must! Because it was missing! -- I’m surprised she didn’t insist on a strip-search as well as a vaginal & anal probe! But I felt as if all of those things had already been done to me!

I was angry the teacher didn’t force her to apologize for falsely accusing me.

I came home crying! I’d been publicly humiliated. Plus my reputation and character had been sullied and I’d done nothing wrong!

My parents were outraged. They knew they weren’t raising a criminal and this reflected on them. That evening, my mother phoned the teacher at home and demanded Mary-Lou be moved. At least this time, they had my back and I was grateful!

As Mary-Lou gathered up her things she gave me a sour stare. A girl named Jessica was imported from across the room.

Jessica had eyes with high arched brows. A long full ponytail with cinnamon-colored curls cascaded down her back. Jessica was so comely and perfect looking; she could have had her own TV show! I felt as if I’d won a trophy having her as my seatmate.

For some reason, she refused to talk to me! Jessica would converse with the kids around us, but every time I tried to say anything, she would shush me. – And class wasn’t even in session! I felt hurt and insulted. But then I remembered my previous seatmate, I needed to count myself fortunate.

Shortly before Christmas, my parents announced that right after New Year’s we’d be moving just a short ways down the coast to Hobe Sound. But it meant that I would be attending a different school.

There was no “Good bye” between Jessica and me. I hope she and Mary-Lou ended up as seatmates!!!

Down in Hobe Sound, I found myself in a two-room schoolhouse. Here, I didn’t mind going to class as much. This school didn’t suck! Best of all we had solitary desks! My time there was a cherished memory and a story for another blog!

A CURSED DAY

There are just some days I should probably never leave my house! I’m mostly homebound and I’m not complaining. However I do enjoy a day out every now and then.

This particular day, I had been looking forward to with delight. I was meeting my friend Priscilla. We were lunching at an Asian buffet in town that has the best sushi around! We had planned this two weeks before.

The previous day and the day after were bright and sunny, which is unusual because this is our monsoon season. And usually the rain hits mostly in the afternoon.

That morning however, the sky was dark. I thought it would surely clear. But as I pulled out of my garage rain suddenly poured down in torrents! And my garage door refused to close! No matter how hard or as many times as I pressed the clicker, it refused to budge. And my neighbor had installed a new battery just the last January when I was in Thailand.

I grabbed my umbrella and ran inside. I would go out the front door and walk around. However, I always struggle with that lock from the outside. I was getting drenched and the key just stuck! Then I remembered that I have a double garage, I’d go out that door. I wanted to slap myself! By now, I was soaked!

The rain was fierce and the streets were soon flooding with puddles. It became difficult for me to see thru the windshield wipers. I decided to take the longer route to the restaurant with less traffic. My car is old, low-built and long. Whenever water splashes up into the fan belt my steering wheel locks! As soon as I got into heavier traffic I held my breath every time I made a turn! I had a terrible sense of foreboding.

Arriving at the restaurant, the parking lot was jammed with cars. I was forced to park a distance away. As soon as I turned off the ignition another car pulled in close, a man jumped out and ran to the restaurant. His car was parked so near to mine I had to do gymnastics with my umbrella to get out in the heavy rain. It was a really tight squeeze!

This day just seemed to be cursed!

After being seated inside, Priscilla was 20 minutes late. I feared she was in an accident! Fortunately, it was a client showing up just as she was leaving. (This happened to me all the time when I worked in the family business.) Not realizing I didn’t have a cell phone she’d sent an email. I told her next time to call the restaurant. – That's what we did before cell phones!

Priscilla is wonderful company and worth waiting for, our lunch together was delightful as usual.

Afterward, we said good-by at the restaurant door. It was still raining. I was relieved to see there was now an empty space beside my car.

I turned the key in the ignition and my car refused to start! I tried again, same thing. I pulled the key out and just sat there awhile. It was getting hot inside, but I couldn’t open any windows due to the torrential downpour.

Again, I tried. This time my car started!!!  Relieved, I took the same route home.

As I turned into my neighborhood the heavy rain abruptly stopped. My garage door now opened immediately with no problems.

The following day, I took my car to a mechanic to check the battery. He stated it looked just fine!

I wonder if there was something in the atmosphere that particular day affecting batteries??? Because my garage clicker is also working perfectly, now!

Anyway, after returning home, I felt an enormous sense of relief. Later, I made myself a delicious cup of French vanilla coffee and I started thinking. Despite everything and all of those unpleasant things that occurred, I had returned safe and unscathed along with my car. Plus I had enjoyed a delicious lunch with Priscilla’s company.

The day was not cursed after all, just the opposite!

TASTY MIXES & QUICK FIXES

In some of my photos, I appear to be winking at the camera. -- I am not! I have a lazy eye when I don’t get enough sleep! However today’s post concerns my lazy ass. I like things simple & easy! I enjoy cooking about as much as I enjoy house work, which is not at all!

In my family, we all shared a lust for sweets.

Did you know that chocolate mousse can be prepared easily and inexpensively? Just make instant dark chocolate pudding, add 3 heaping tablespoons of instant coffee, and then mix with 2 cups whipped topping until the mixture turns mocha colored. To make it extra delectable, add pulverized bittersweet dark chocolate chips.  Ooh! La! La! -- Actually this is ersatz chocolate mousse, but it’ll satisfy any sweet tooth!

When my father was alive; I used to line goblets with sliced canned peaches, then fill with either coconut or pistachio pudding and top with a dollop of whipped crème & jam. He enjoyed these. Dad also liked it when I drained chunk pineapple & mixed it with banana pudding & coconut flakes. My father’s favorite dessert was pudding.

I prefer baked goods. Plus the oven did most of the work! And mine were killer delicious! Sadly, I’m forced to give up this practice due to neuropathy and triglyceride issues. However, I have a recipe that is too scrumptious not to share! This is for all those who can still eat a decadent dessert worry free.

Thirty five years ago I found this EASY recipe in The Palm Beach Post and it’s still a treasure. I guarantee this will impress others with your baking skills even if you don’t have any!

 

                              SUPER DELUXE COOKIE BARS

 

First, you’ll need REFRIGERATED COOKIE DOUGH from the supermarket, the kind in the casing that resembles sausage. Chocolate Chip or Peanut Butter work best with this recipe. Also you will need a giant 4 X 8 inch CHOCOLATE BAR (I prefer dark) 3 block serving.  Also have mixed nuts/flaked coconut/rainbow sprinkles on hand.

Lightly grease a 13 X 9 inch baking pan. Preheat the oven to 350 F

 

Dump the long lump of cookie dough into the pan.

Wash & dry your hands thoroughly, then spray them with butter-flavored cooking spray.

Now with your hands spread the dough out to the far corners.

Place pan in preheated 350 F oven for 12 to 18 minutes or golden brown. Usually 15 minutes does it perfectly! Then carefully remove from oven.

While hot, take the GIANT CHOCOLATE BAR & place it atop the 13 X 9 inch cookie in the pan. As the chocolate melts, take a butter-knife & spread it, completely covering the surface.

 

Immediately, while the chocolate is still soft, top with rainbow sprinkles, or mixed chopped nuts, or flaked coconut, or even all of these together!

Cool in the refrigerator for at least an hour. Then cut into squares or strips.

EASIER THAN PIE!!!

Serve and prepare to hear comments such as, “Wow, These are fancy! They must have taken hours to make!” AND “Will you make me some around Christmas?” – Be sure to charge for this service if you do.

Cover tightly & store in refrigerator. These also keep well in the freezer.

Yummy tummy!  You may NOT want to share!!!

BITCH'N IN THE SCHOOL KITCHEN

August was the most dreaded month of my youth! In the small coastal town where I grew up we returned to school the beginning of the last week. But I can recall a few years we were forced back to class the middle of the month. As soon as the calendar turned, the nightmares began! I recall one in particular about a black school bus festooned with gargoyles and bars in the windows following me wherever I went.

Of course it wasn’t just the students & teachers returning, but many other workers, too!

The year was 1985 and I was 34 years old. Back in 1982, I lost my job and CETA connection thanks to our newly elected President Ronald Reagan. Had he not ended this program, I would have never gone without being employed. These were hard, but good jobs! I did office work. I’m not someone who tolerates heat well!

Afterward, finding any type of employment became a struggle and a disappointment. And my writing just wasn’t selling! I reached the point where I grabbed anything just to have an income. These jobs were miserable and low paying! -- No matter how desperate things may become in the future, I would rather be dead than go back to that in my old age!

I remember reading that after Reagan left office he was paid a million dollars for doing a commercial in Japan. -- What was that, 3 days of work at most? And I’m sure he had a stand-in to sit under all the hot lights. I wanted to punch myself for voting for him!!!

August 1985: I took a temporary job as a cafeteria lady in the same junior high I’d attended years earlier. I was replacing a woman who broke her leg, but I was told it could become a permanent position.

The other ladies seemed helpful and nice. When I told my friend Pat about my new job, she replied that she’d never take any position, or join any group that was ALL women due to the cattiness and backstabbing. I insisted these women were nothing like that!

I was issued a white uniform and told to provide my own hair-net. Back then, I had wavy, bleached blonde hair that was almost waist-length. An ordinary hair-net could not contain it. Fortunately, I found one with a thicker, looser weave that was white in color. It matched my uniform & shoes perfectly, and looked more like a 1940’s snood than a hair-net. – Hey, whatever I do, it’s with style!

As the kids shuffled in wearing shorts & flimsy sandals, I was speechless! Back when I attended, this type of attire was strictly verboten. In fact if our skirts were higher than 4 inches above the knee, we were sent home to change clothes! But everyone pushed the limits and eventually the school was forced to relent. Because we didn’t make our skirts, we bought them, and this is what the stores were all selling.

Naturally, the kitchen was sweltering hot, in seconds I was dripping sweat! I couldn’t wear make-up beyond lipstick; everything else melted right down my face. By the end of the day I was drenched! The first thing I did after returning home was to wash my sweat-soaked uniform and then shower & wash my hair. This was my daily routine.

My first day, the overseer walked me into the freezer where the ice-cream treats were stored. “You can have ONE of these per day, but only ONE!” she told me sternly. As a student there, I was limited to the purchase of ONE! But now I was an adult working for peanuts and they were stilling treating me this way!

Because the kids started arriving at 11:15, we ate our lunch at 10:30. At that hour I was still tasting my Cheerios, so I ate light. Then, I went back into the kitchen; “to get an early start” instead I made a beeline for the freezer! I made sure to eat TWO ice-cream treats! – But I always made certain to hide the 1st wrapper deep in a different garbage bin in case anyone got suspicious.

Three days into my employment, an additional woman was hired, a heavy-set lady named Caron. Since we were the new kids, we bonded immediately. She would join me every day for TWO ice-cream treats while the others still chatted in the cafeteria. 

After the kids had all returned to class came the immense clean-up. Filthy trays & pans were piled high waiting to be scrubbed & washed. “I’m bringing my rubber gloves from home!” I declared.

“We don’t use them, here,” I was told. I brought them anyway and everyone wanted to borrow them when I was not using.

Every day was nothing but heat, sweat, & drudgery! The work included lots of heavy lifting. And by that, I mean gigantic HOT pans straight from the oven filled with things like baked potatoes. And these pans all had sharp corners! I slashed my right hand the first day and my left the last!

The paycheck I received at the end of the week was downright depressing. Another week passed and I decided it wasn’t worth it to me. Fortunately, I quit before it was my turn to mop the floor.

The good-bys were all good-natured and I felt a tinge of sadness leaving this group behind. I planned to drop in around Christmas and gift them all with rubber gloves.

Several weeks after I left, Caron phoned to inform me she had fainted in the kitchen due to the heat and quit. I inquired about the other ladies there. “I defended you,” she stated.

“What? I wasn’t aware I did anything that needed defending!” I exclaimed.

“Well, eh, they said negative things about you. But I kept telling them I found you a sweet person and I enjoyed working with you.”

I didn’t want to believe what I was hearing. I’d rather this had not been revealed to me, but at the same time, I was glad. It saved me time and money! Needless to say, I never returned to visit bearing gifts!

BRAS, BLAHS, UGHS, & AHS!

I have a big issue with brassieres! Why do 99 per cent of them fasten in the BACK when my hands are in the FRONT??? I’m guessing that in olden times ladies had maids for this task. Guess poor women went braless; must have been a lot of jiggling and bouncing up top as they worked in the fields or fed the livestock.

Hmmn, time to consult Wikipedia, do-do-do-dah-do-do-do-dah-do-do-do-dah-do-do-do-dah-do-do-do-dah!  OK, here’s what I found. Wow! There was sure a lot of info, more than I care to share here. I’d like to think my handful of followers have attention spans as short as mine. So I’ll try to limit it to just the interesting stuff.

Brassieres have been around in one form or another since early civilization. However ancient Egyptian woman mostly bared their bosoms. In some Third World countries the women still do, or else go bare under their tops.

And here’s a surprise! The hedonistic ancient Romans considered larger, fuller breasts ugly, even comical, associating them with old age!

Small breasts were considered the more attractive right up until the Renaissance. Then, fuller were the ideal as décolletage became increasingly fashionable. Breasts were pushed up and out almost to spilling out of clothing.

Ladies of upper class were forced into tight-fitting and uncomfortable undergarments. Their worker bees were granted more slack and comfort.

The modern brassiere was patented in Germany in 1889 by a woman. Yikes, she must have been double-jointed or perhaps she had a maid.

FYI I get as much info from hardcover books (GASP!) as I do from the Internet. -- Hey I’m old and I’ve got the tits to prove it! And those ancient Romans were mostly idiots!

In my teens and 20’s, Women’s Libbers denounced bras for contributing to the suppression of women. They would have us go braless just like the underdeveloped countries. (Pun intended!) They claimed bras were created to attract male leers. -- Oh sure, as if bouncy jiggling bosoms and nipples visible under blouses would have the opposite effect!!! Brassieres were burned in trash cans. These feminists must have had really tiny breasts, because bras have a valid function!

I recall this test as a teenager: You placed a pencil under a breast and if it stayed in place, you required a bra!  -- Women are not men and I have no desire to be like them. Blah!

During the 1990’s, tops were cut wide in areas such as the neck and armpits. This created a problem with bra straps! They became impossible to conceal and were in full view everywhere. Ugh! This looked tacky as hell!

Not wanting to walk around in public looking as if I had live animals trapped under my blouse, I couldn’t go braless. So I scoured stores from mall to mall searching for bras matching the colors of my tops. Well, it still looked tacky, but not way tacky!

Back in the double zero decade, or what I refer to as the naughty oughty one, plunging cleavage was in style. I guess the 2 big round O’s inspired designers! For the more modest, (I’m NOT one) camisole bras with lace flowers across the top began to appear.

Of course around my house, I only put on a bra (or clothes) for company. – I live in Florida and keep my A.C. set on 80 degrees to save money! I prefer plunging cut-aways in lighter, thinner fabrics. I sure don’t miss having to dress every single day! Bras are uncomfortable in warm weather, but necessary in public.

Front fastening brassieres do exist, but are rare and difficult to find. And I might add that strap adjustments are also located in the BACK for your inconvenience! Bras must be removed (often several times) to make any adjustments for comfort. Ugh!

Brassieres that FASTEN and ADJUST in the BACK belong in a MUSEUM!!! Why are the majority still made this way??? THESE are the bras that should be BURNED!!! They deserve to be gathered up, soaked in gasoline and set aflame in front of the stores that sold them!

Women should demand that brassieres be designed to easily CLOSE and ADJUST from the FRONT!!!  Just imagine the ease, convenience, and the time it would save. AHHH!

THE CONTINENT OF PANGAEA

At age 65 I am certainly in the winter of my life. Still I vividly recall a joke I heard back in the 1970’s. (I was in my 20’s then.)  It was sexist! Even back then offensive to many, but FUNNY as all get out!!!

I planned to tell this joke at my 40^th birthday party until a friend urged me not to. “You will insult and offend too many of your guests,” she insisted.

“None of my friends are THAT sensitive!” I replied. Then I told the joke to another (older) friend and asked her opinion.

“Please do not tell that joke at your party!” she pleaded. “Yes, it is offensive!”

Most of the guests who attended my 40^th birthday party are either dead now, or no longer in my life, so I am going to tell YOU the joke!

Drum roll please!

A Frenchman was sitting on a park bench next to an old lady. The old woman looks up from her book and notices him lewdly ogling women passers-by.

“Isn’t it interesting,” said the Frenchman, “how in certain decades of a woman’s life she resembles a particular continent.”

The old woman looked puzzled . “How so?” she asked.

“For example,” the Frenchman explained, “A woman in her teens is like Africa! Grrrrrrrrr,” he growls while scratching the air in front of him. “She’s wild, unexplored, inviting adventure!”

His eyes narrow as he licks his lips salaciously. “A woman in her 20’s is like Asia, mysterious and alluring.”

 “In her 30’s a woman is like America.” His cups his hands and begins twisting them as if he’s squeezing grapefruit. “More developed and generous with natural resources.”

“And a woman in her 40’s,” he raises an eyebrow while stoking his chin, “is like Europe, OLD but still interesting in some places…. And there you have!”

“But what about me?” asked the old lady eagerly. “What about all of us women over 50?”

“Eh!” replied the Frenchman with a dismissive wave of his hand. “They’re like Australia, they exist but no one cares one way or the other.”

Badd’ da -boom!

Nowadays I’m in the Australia category, myself! (Actually, I am and always have been the lost continent of Atlantis.) And I still think this joke is hilarious! Even more so now because I can see how skewed and inaccurate this guy’s thinking really is. Also it’s a mild joke by today’s standards! It’s merely naughty without being filthy. I’ve heard many on cable that made me want to wash my ears out with Lysol!

Whenever I think of an older woman, the continent of Pangaea comes to mind. Pangaea was the first and only continent upon the earth. It existed during the Paleozoic era into the Mesozoic. Over time it broke apart, drifted and became the other continents. Mature women are like Pangaea in reverse! All those continents with their accumulated wisdom and experience rejoin the source, one super continent again emerges! This creates a more fascinating and more powerful person, not a lesser one!

Value yourself as the treasure you truly are!!! I say to older women, embrace and celebrate you!!!

I’m a far happier person today. Now in the latter season of my life, I know I’m a survivor. I remember where I’ve been, as I recall the words of Julius Caesar:  “Somewhere in the winter of me is an invincible summer!”

And also those of prophet Edgar Cayce:  “Atlantis will rise again!”

FRACTURED & TOOTHLESS SMILES

Dentists throughout the Treasure Coast have a nickname for me. I’m the “Saliva Pit!” I’ve been called this so often it could be in my obituary. Often, I hear comments like, “OMG! Get a pool man in here!” or “Someone turn off this fountain!”

My saliva glands run on overdrive. And no, I don’t spit when I talk, not anymore than you!

On the plus side, dentists often marvel at the immaculate cleanliness of my teeth. I’m a fanatical flosser! Plaque contributes to heart disease and I can’t afford to do any hospital time! So if I eat a piece of fruit or just a cracker, I automatically brush and floss afterward. Frequently I’m told to limit my brushing to 2 minutes and use less enthusiasm.

On my 2 recent trips outside the country I was forced to neglect much of my dental routine. This bothered me tremendously! My friend Rose and fellow traveler to South America, told me not to worry so much. “Some people only brush their teeth once a day,” she informed me.

“Well I don’t care to know anyone like that!” I replied. “They’re disgusting!”

Plus MY teeth are really expensive!!! Most of the visible ones are crowns. Those fracture easily and are crazy expensive to replace! Plus I have bridges on each side and they aren’t cheap to replace, either! That’s just one more reason I should expatriate.

My 1st smile make-over was back in 1998, the dentist assured it would last for at least 20 years. LIAR! Those crowns cracked within FIVE! This dentist left the clinic shortly after the work was completed. My father called it a money-grubbing place because they were constantly jacking up the price!

Soon afterward, we were living in Vero Beach and I had a mouthful of cracked crowns. Within a year, my father suffered a stroke. The following one, he was dying of cancer. The crowns had to wait.

A year after my father passed, I let my regular dentist replace the crowns. (BIG MISTAKE!) My nickname for him became Dr. Rabbit Fetish! He was a big fan of the seagull wing look. To my eyes, it was more the bunny-rabbit look! The temporary plastic crowns I was given were extremely unflattering, to say the least!

I thought surely I must be the victim of a prank and a hidden camera was trained on me! Not only were they hideous, they were HUGE! I looked exactly like a Syfi mutant, a human-hare hybrid!!! I seriously couldn’t believe they’d allow me to walk out of there looking like that!!! I complained, but was reminded these were only temporary. Tired, I left! I’d just cocoon at home and keep my mouth tightly closed if I went out in public.

The following morning as I bit into my breakfast bagel they fell out into my plate! Quickly, I prepared for an emergency trip back. This was a bad hair day, so I tied a scarf and grabbed my dark sunglasses. As I turned the corner, I hit the brakes to avoid hitting a neighbor’s dog. She mouthed a thank you and smiled at me. I smiled back! Suddenly an expression of sheer horror emerged on her face. Then I remembered my 4 front teeth were missing!

“Do NOT put those hideous things back in my mouth!” I demanded when I returned to the clinic. This time I departed with a more flattering pair. But the first should have been a big red flag!

The porcelain caps I received were so identical, they looked like cut-rate dentures, nothing like my beautiful original crowns! I refused them and asked for the plastic ones back while I searched elsewhere. The dentist demanded I pay for them regardless. We argued and I feared he would send me out of there toothless! (I should have let him do just that and driven straight to a lawyer!) Under duress, I agreed to let him install the crowns. Afterward, I told him they looked like Dollar Store ones!

He said could make them look less identical and began creating spaces between the teeth. Well afterward they looked even worse! And this was not like a bad haircut that would grow back! These were permanently attached to my face! After all this time and expense I was back to being ashamed of my smile! I filed a complaint against him with the BBB!

At this point in time, I was still flush with inheritance money. Also this was before my staggering financial loss in G.M. Bonds that changed my life. Plus I HATED those crowns and felt sick every time I looked into a mirror! I avoided smiling and my confidence was eroding. They had to go!

I made an appointment with a prosthodontist, a woman.  She was more understanding. But there was a new problem, a fractured root in my right front crown! I needed an IMPLANT! This was another major expense! And for this, I needed another specialist, an oral surgeon.

Finally, at long last, early on a Saturday morning, the prosthodontist opened her office just for me. She, the oral surgeon and members of their staff, all showed up in shorts & T-shirts to complete the job. I was pleased with the result!

However, there was ONE problem, I had a ridge over the implant which not only appeared unnatural, but was a major food catcher! The prosthodontist said it was part of the abutment and she could remove it, but it would look worse. She sent me back to the oral surgeon. He said the only way to fix it was to replace the implant! Not having money to burn, I left. – A year later, the ridge fell off by itself and the implant looks perfect, now!

Recently on a dental visit, to my horror, I was informed that I had a torn eye in my mouth!!! Turns out this is dental slang for an abnormality in the back of my lower gum line. This abnormality is the reason for my delicate gag reflex.

Reluctantly, I have agreed to kiss suitors in the past, but warned them never to slip me any tongue or I’m liable to vomit down their throat! Some have ignored this, but thank goodness I am blessed with an overbite that no tongue can penetrate.

I absolutely love my reconstructed smile, again! And I must say it sure gets me more attention than I actually deserve, or want.