I had to have a tooth extracted yesterday. I left work a bit early, had a shot of Bulleit Rye whiskey and headed to the dental surgeons office. I did not know him at all but my dentist of 25 years, Doug Disraeili, is a perfectionist and only makes referrals to good dentists and surgeons (as long as they are USC grads, like him apparently). Everything went well. It was a front tooth and still I did not feel a thing. I was not even aware that it was out, when it was out. He had an assistant named Beata from a small town near Krakow in Poland. That was kind of interesting. I am always fascinated with people from Eastern Europe and their slight accents. Always trying to discover my roots. My wifes ancestors are from Pinsk, I told her. She did not know of Pinsk, but she knew of Minsk. She seemed very happy to be here in the US and was studying to be a nurse. I, of course, made a good impression and was looking good, with a bloody hole in the front of my mouth, drooling blood and trying to sound Intelligent after a shot of whiskey and a couple of novacaine injections that left the right side of my lip fat and drooping and a bit out of my control. The rye whisky was good, especially for that moment when he inserted the needle into the roof of my mouth. Punctured pallet, you might say. My favorite part.
Posted on: Sat, 21 Jun 2014 15:23:51 +0000
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