Dental Accessories Assembled During Lunch

Back to the cardiac lecture I go, but first a detour to the restroom for breath control.

Pizza is a risky venture when you haven't brought a toothbrush to work.

Dried sauce caked around the corners of the mouth. Dough crammed into the spaces between each tooth to make them appear conjoined, like those candy wax molds I used to goof off with when I was a kid. And then, the dreaded basil sprig wedged splat in the middle of the front teeth.

A couple of swishes of water may serve to loosen up that little bugger.

Maybe if I position the holdout particle between my front teeth it will look like a small space--a clean vacancy showcasing a display of ivory.

It's not working! Basil is still recognizable as a foreign object in my mouth. What the hell?! I have to get back to class. By now they've probably already started, but I can't go in like this. I'll forget about it in the drone of the lecture and end up smiling in a false display of fascination, and then it will make its unwanted appearance.

I have nothing to work with here. Maybe this paper towel will do. Just roll it into a tiny point, jam it in there forcefully, and joila! Okay, let's try that one more time. Roll, jam...come on already, get the hell outta there!

Ah, perfectly positioned. After my braces came off my wisdom teeth pushed my perfect smile askance. This is a good look for me now. Maybe I'll carry around a small container of dried chopped basil instead of gum. Parsley would also do the trick, but it wouldn't give that fresh herbal scent to my breath.

Finally, freedom from the mirror. As I pass through the classroom door and greet my coworkers, I notice a piece of toilet paper hanging off the back of my shoe.

High School

My eldest daughter has attended private schools her entire life. Not the expensive, how-to-manage-your-hired-help situated on 120 acres with horseback riding lessons type, but simply run-of-the-mill suburban parochial institutions. This will be her first year in a public system.

She was very worried about fitting in, as if public school students are an alien species. I researched the school districts in Middle Tennessee until my computer iced over, and finally decided upon one that made the U.S. News and World Report top 1000 in the country.

Out came my old yearbooks with an enthusiastic fervor, in hopes that I could demonstrate to Aubrey the essence of public school. I lovingly flipped to the back page, and in a fit of nostalgia read the autographs from old friends out loud.

"Until we bomb the Middle East..." (this was in 1990)
"Lucifer lives..."
"The Sly will provide..."

"I thought you said that public school kids were normal," Aubrey responded glibly.

"Uh, let's look at something else."

I was part of the "independent thinking" group (of which my group despised the assumption that we were actually a group). And yet, still a choir geek...

"How about this choir program from my junior year? Look, there I am dancing to Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy." Groans are heard from the sidelines.

I wonder if I am doing my children a disservice by moving to this place, where you can be passed by three or four BMW's and surrounded by Lexi on 3 sides while driving a 1-mile stretch of road. Will they understand life, know that humanity, nature and God are the basis of all things--that "things" are not the basis of anything but burgeoning superficiality, and ignore the blatant fact that 1/4 of the senior class drives brand new Mustangs? Will they still like to bargain hunt with their mom, or will I be an embarrassment to their Brentwood-raised way of life?

Today begins the weekend frenzy of sales tax-free shopping for school supplies and clothes. Brentwood is one of the wealthiest towns in Tennessee, and she knows it. I think that we will stop at the Goodwill store before hitting the mall this time.

Orientation Classes at the New Job (Dialysis Lecture)

My mind is slowly sliding down from doodling dementia into a catatonic cave. Get those eyes up! No, better yet, hoist that heavy lump attached to your shoulders and look straight at the fluorescent lights overhead that mockingly glare as if to say "We will not let you sleep, but will annoy you enough to make you want to sew your eyelids shut!"

The problem here is that my brain has exceeded its daily learning capacity. Like an overstretched stomach that spews forth its contents in rebuke, my neurons have hung an invisible "Do Not Disturb" sign across my forehead.

There is only so much information that can be forcefully crammed into my brain before it comes seeping out from my ears.