A boob, that's what I am, a boob!

A few months in the rearview, I broke one of my front teeth. Not real bad. But, bad enough that you could see the chip if I smiled, or talked. Still, I put off getting it fixed for some time because I'm cheap and have been busy. A few weeks ago, I noted a business person staring at it during a meeting, and well, all my being an Okie, white trash, double wide stereotype thinking pushed me off center enough to open my wallet and get the damn thing fixed. I did this yesterday. That's not what is BLOG worthy though. What is BLOG worthy is another shiny example of my bad sense of humor. I think this is hilarious. Then again, I think buying the Elder Boy(s) teacher a six pack of beer along with a Bud Dry T-Shirt is funny. I'm sick.

As usual with me, you need a bit of back story for this story. My Dentist who I've only been seeing since this Summer is a good guy with a very family friendly practice. It is the kind of practice that has those little needle point things with Bible scripture on the walls. In his main office, where he was going to fix my broke tooth, he has a shrine to The Andy Griffith Show. You can tell by his paraphanelia that he really digs the family values of the show, etc. I have no problem with any of that, actually, and as I started, I think he is a good guy, I tell you it for context.

I was en fuego yesterday. I arrived at my appointment at the exact start time, so I had no wait. The little old lady knew me, and as she was telling me to go on back to the Mayberry Room, I told her I was sorry for being so tight on the appointment, blaming those 'damn' school zones. She gave me a wary, I can't believe that little punk said 'damn' smile, and returned to her work.

After pleasantries with the Dental Tech on my Thanksgiving, the Good Dentist came in and said hello, and promptly apologized for being hoarse. Hoarse my ass, I thought, you are sick! I'm germ phobic. This only stoked my flames making me mucho en fuego, thus as I was reclined back in the dental chair, peering up at the devotional and inspirational posters they have on their ceiling, my bad joke hit me.

Dentist: So, how did you do this Stuart?
Me: Beer bottle (which is true.)
Dentist: Oh, ok...that's good...means that the way you chew didn't cause the chip which means I can file it down a bit and then patch it with some (insert whatever the tooth cement is called.) It should be as good as new, cosmetically. It won't be as strong as before though, so you'll have to watch how you bite certain things, like carrots...and watch those beer bottles.
Me: I don't want that.
Dentist: Excuse me?
Me: I want a fang.
Dentist: A fang...?
Me: Yes.
Dentist and Dental Tech: (both laugh...)
Me: I'm serious. I want a fang. Can't you file it down so it is sharp and pointy, you know, like an animal, or a vampire.
Dentist: (nervous laughter as he looks over at the Dental Tech who has a blank look on her face.) You want a...
Me: (cutting him off...) How much will that cost me? A fang? Out of pocket I mean, I couldn't find anything in my insurance book about how much insurance would pay for something like that. They had something about cosmetic dental work, but I thought that was like, gold teeth with diamonds in them or something? You know, the bling.
Dentist: (looking very confused.) You are serious? You want a...

At that point, I couldn't continue, I pussed out, smiled and then flat out laughed which caused them to both laugh, so we all sat around in the Shrine to Andy and laughed, long and hard.

I think the Good Dentist might have the last laugh though. This morning, I woke up, with a sore throat. Bastard. I should have gargled with Purell when I left that place.

Until I BLOG again...I should have worn a cape to the appointment!

Help me.

Are we there yet? Is there a worse road trip cliche than this? Such a tried and true cliche, they made a movie with it as the title. The family road trip has been comic fodder for such a long time, I won't add to it - much. Just my brief little experience. Here goes, for those that care.

Set-Up: Me and the Boy(s) went to Houston for a few days to see my folks. I went by myself. Mr. Mom. We had been on the road, maybe, three minutes. For those that are familiar with the Messoplex, we got onto 75 (a.k.a. Central) at Beltline in Richardson. Near the Team's Casa. South bound and down, loaded up for Houston. We had yet to make it to the High Five (LBJ and Central interchange), close to Midpark when the Elder Boy, from the back-seat asked the question...Are we there yet. Four hours of road ahead, and not even 5 minutes into our trip and I get - Are we there yet.

The Elder Boy is an inquisitive lad. So much so, that at his recent parent/teacher conference we learned that he asks his teacher "WHY" so much, that she though he was being disrespectful. When I first learned this, from the Boy(s) agitated Mom, my Bride, I thought, what is so wrong about asking questions? I think it a good trait. I don't want the Boy to be disrespectful, but I also don't want him to be a sheep, and blindly follow the leader. It is a fine line. Still, after our 4 hour ride to Houston Town, I think, I can see the teacher's point. I don't think he's being disrespectful, but it can certainly be annoying (and I love the Boy, imagine the poor Teacher who gets paid to be with him.) Here are but a few highlights of those 240 harrowing minutes if you care to take a look see.

Ethan: Why is Houston far?
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Ethan: Why do Granny and Pops live in Houston?
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Ethan: Where is Houston?
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Wyatt: Help Me. (when he'd lose possession or drop the infernal plug which required me to reach around my seat and try and blindly grab and or find it, or replace the plug with one I had in the front of the car, which again, required me to blindly reach around my back and hand to Wy.)
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Ethan: (about 20 minutes into the ride.) Can we stop at the Mingo store now (Mingo is how he pronounces Convenience.)
Me: We'll stop in Buffalo (which is my unofficial half way point.)
<20 second pause>
Ethan: Where is Buffalo?
Ethan: Are we there yet (meaning Buffalo)?
<10 second pause>
Ethan: Are we there yet (meaning Houston)?
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Ethan: Why do we live in Dallas?
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Ethan: Why is Dallas close?
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Ethan: (When we stoped to let Ethan use the bathroom) Why can't I touch the urinal (pronounced Your-Nell)?
Me: People pee all over it.
Ethan: Why?
Ethan: What's that thing?
Me: A urinal cake.
Ethan: CAKE! I want some cake.
Me: Trust me, you don't want that kind of cake.
Ethan: Who's that (as a trucker walks into the bathroom, sees me down on me knees in front of a urinal pulling up Ethan's pants, with Wyatt between the two of us so he can't escape, and promptly turns around and walks back out the door.)
Ethan: Why did he leave?
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Wyatt: Help Me.
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Ethan: Are we there yet?
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Wyatt: Help me.
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Ethan: Why are there Mingo Stores?
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Ethan: What does that say (pointing to a sign)?
Me: That is a road sign, it tells the drivers information, that particular sign tells us that we're approaching an interchange where you can exit and go to this town that is East or this other Town that is West.
Ethan: Why?
Me: Why what?
Ethan: Why do you want to go West?
Me: What? Who?
Wyatt: Help me.
Ethan: Why?
Me: Why WHAT!
Ethan: Why do they have signs?
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Ethan: Are we there yet?
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Ethan: Why does it take so long!
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Ethan: Are we there yet?
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Wyatt: Help me.
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Me: I need a Bud Dry.
Ethan: Why?
Me: Why ask why.
Ethan: Why do you need a Bud Dry?
Wyatt: Help me.
Me: I liked their slogan.
Ethan: What is a slogan.
Me: Why ask why.
Ethan: Why ask why Dad?
Wyatt: Help me.
Me: Indeed.
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Until I BLOG again...This is probably inappropriate, especially since the Boy(s) go to a day school at the Methodist Church, still...does anyone have a Bud Dry T-Shirt they can send me - I think it would make a most excellent gift from Ethan to his teacher for the Holidays! Why ask why, Drink Bud Dry. We can give it to her along w/ a sixer for those especially trying days at school.