Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh. I’m getting my wisdom teeth out in exactly one week, and am trying so hard not to completely freak out.
I hate stuff like this—hence me being 25 with all my wisdom teeth still securely nestled awkwardly in my mouth. And you want to know the only thing that finally, after all these years, talked me into submitting myself to the pain and torture of getting teeth ripped brutally from my face? The promise made by my dentist that if I don’t get them out now, I’ll get them out later when they cause an infection in my jaw because they are all sideways and stuff.
See here:
Gross huh? Oh, and that last part was a paraphrase. I assure you that my dentist said something smarter than “sideways and stuff” when referring to the dental danger that apparently looms over my 30s and 40s because of these stupid teeth that serve no purpose other than to cause me trauma. I just can't, in my building panic, remember.
So yeah, the only thing motivating me here is the threat of even more pain. I seriously can’t think too much about it because I’ll cry; I feel like my mouth is about to be voluntarily violated, which causes mixed emotions for sure.
Let me just say then that I’m going to prepare by giving myself a pep talk that mostly covers the fact that I probably won't die, eating a corn dog at the fair the day before, drugging myself, then getting those suckers out followed by lots and lots of the homemade ice cream Josh said he’d comfort me with…and whimpering and whining just enough to make me feel better yet still be an acceptable amount so no one gets annoyed. That’s my game plan. Please feel free to send flowers and leave condolences below.
I hate stuff like this—hence me being 25 with all my wisdom teeth still securely nestled awkwardly in my mouth. And you want to know the only thing that finally, after all these years, talked me into submitting myself to the pain and torture of getting teeth ripped brutally from my face? The promise made by my dentist that if I don’t get them out now, I’ll get them out later when they cause an infection in my jaw because they are all sideways and stuff.
See here:
Gross huh? Oh, and that last part was a paraphrase. I assure you that my dentist said something smarter than “sideways and stuff” when referring to the dental danger that apparently looms over my 30s and 40s because of these stupid teeth that serve no purpose other than to cause me trauma. I just can't, in my building panic, remember.
So yeah, the only thing motivating me here is the threat of even more pain. I seriously can’t think too much about it because I’ll cry; I feel like my mouth is about to be voluntarily violated, which causes mixed emotions for sure.
Let me just say then that I’m going to prepare by giving myself a pep talk that mostly covers the fact that I probably won't die, eating a corn dog at the fair the day before, drugging myself, then getting those suckers out followed by lots and lots of the homemade ice cream Josh said he’d comfort me with…and whimpering and whining just enough to make me feel better yet still be an acceptable amount so no one gets annoyed. That’s my game plan. Please feel free to send flowers and leave condolences below.
