Fear me.
About 6 or 7 years ago, I managed to break one of my upper right premolars. I held off doing anything about it for a couple months, until it eroded enough that the nerve became exposed and I was praying for death. So I went to the dentist and had him yank it out. No fuss, no muss-that was the end of that, right?
Nuh uh.
This morning I felt this weird not-quite-pain where the premolar once was. I ran my tongue across it and I felt something hard. I thought maybe I had a piece of food stuck in there so I poked at it with my finger (and looked damn classy while doing so, I must say) and it didn't budge. So I go get a mirror and take a look and sure enough, there's a new got-dang tooth springing up in my 31 year-old mouth.
Before anyone says it: it wasn't a baby tooth. I did all my tooth losing and growing when I was still in elementary school. So the only other possible explanation is that I'm just a freak of nature. It's weird enough that I don't have any underarm hair (nada, nothing, not even fuzz. Not that I mind), now I've got unexpected replacement choppers forming.
Hell, maybe it's some kind of strange karmic reward. I've always gone out of my way to practice proper oral hygiene, and aside from breaking the tooth to begin with, I've never had any problems with my teeth-not one cavity (we'll just gloss over the wisdom teeth chapter of "My Adventures With Dentistry"). That's more comforting than the other explanation, which is that I've become something akin to a sideshow attraction and will soon have to start hanging out with the bearded lady (mom?) and the beloved Bat Boy.
Actually, that would be a pretty sweet deal, so I guess I win either way.
2 hours ago
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