I’m teething right along with the little ones in my care. I’m thirty years old and my wisdom tooth is coming in. Yes, it is a singular molar. You see, I have the one my mother was missing.
Visits to the dentist often include the same scene:
Hygenist looks at x-rays she just took, looks at me, looks at x-rays, looks at me, and finally says, “are you sure you didn’t have your wisdom teeth removed already?” (and that brain-dead doctor forgot one?)
Me: “yep, pretty sure.”
Dentist enters, looks at x-rays, looks at me, looks at x-rays, and back at me, and finally says, “are you sure you didn’t have your wisdom teeth removed already?”
Me: “yep, pretty sure.” I mean, I know I’d be knocked out for the actual surgery, but I think I’d remember the event, wouldn’t you?
I’m not worried about this guy, there’s a reason he’s never been pulled — there is room for him up there on the top shelf. (Not the same story on the bottom, and I’m afraid if he was coming from a different place I’d have had to go under twelve years ago.) In the meantime, it’s very entertaining to feel this thing press against my gums, and have the first point break through this week.
I used to think that I was only one quarter as wise as the rest of the world. I’ve concluded, however, that I’m just further evolved.