Twenty-Seven

For about three months now, I've been a hilljack. I'm one right now because I have a missing tooth, albeit a molar. So yesterday I went for a crown fitting, hoping to end my tenure within the redneck realm. But what I got was a humbling experience.

I'm laying there in the dentist chair, while the tech is measuring my mouth and the missing tooth. The dentist comments on how my jaw makes my teeth really broad, but I know it's because I have an abnormally large head. Then comes the bad part, which went something like this:

"This one's close."

"I think you need to go yellower."

"This one's good."

"A little more stained."

"Ah, this one, that's it!"

In otherwords, I suck.

I should've crest whitened them before hand. Now I'll have yellow porcelain teeth, just in case I ever whiten the real ones. You know, when nobody notices, it's okay to not have pearlies. But when you're called out, it's like we're all seven on the playground, and the dentist is dancing around me saying "Tom Tom, yellow tooth, your teeth are as dirty as the roof!"

Oh and the twenty-seven title means I'm way young, but ten years over 17, which many songs are written about. It's Mr. Yellowtooth's Birthday...