Tag Archives: personification

When Wisdom Fails: The Story of a Tooth

Angry Tooth

The bristles pass me by again.

The Incisors get all the action. The property values in the extreme back of the mouth have really diminished of late; it’s like there just isn’t enough room for all of us in here. While the front choppers with their beach front property are doused in minty flouride, I’m back here in the ghetto marinating in Java Monster and Coke Zero, the remnants of the Knight’s pathetic attempts to balance poor nutrition and a sedentary lifestyle with his dream of looking like his fictionalized version of himself.

I lack advancement.

I should have been evicted years ago, the Molars tell me. But they’re no better than me. They shirk their duties, letting food particles pass over them and sticking me with all the real work. It’s worse. Those bastards can chew while I can only gnaw–they always leave me encrusted and unfulfilled.

Does no one appreciate my wisdom?

After a few years of this, anyone would crack, right? I thought that maybe if I cut like the Incisors, those bristles might come my way and clean up the neighborhood. I mean sure, there’s the occasional dousing of Listerine, but it’s like sweeping the streets with acid rain. So when I finally broke, I made myself hard, sharp. Steak knives have nothing on me. And now that the Knight has actually cut some weight, my jagged edge is right up against the inside of his cheek.

Swallow. Do you feel me now? Bite down. Do you taste blood? Try giving that lecture over Hamlet with that iron taste in your throat. You deserve this. You didn’t even notice when I splintered off, when my crown burst! How could you be so cruel? I mean, I am a part of you, after all.

I am part of you whether you want me or not.

Wait! What’s that mirror doing back here? You… You didn’t! A dentist? You vile betrayer! Molars, are you really going to let those needles get past you? Damn you! Don’t you dare numb that cheek! No, wait! I’ve changed my mind! I can deal with the ghetto! So what if I can’t keep up with the Incisors? Please let me stay! I can change! I’ll get some counseling, file myself down, live as half a tooth! Please, please don’t make me go!

“Come on,” mutters the Dentist. “You don’t really want to stay in there, do you?”

But the dread of something after death, the undiscovered country, from whose bourn no traveller returns, puzzles the will! And makes us rather bear those ills we have than fly to others that we know not of–

“Got it!”

And the Knight somehow manages though the Novocain, the last thing I shall ever hear:

“Goodnight, Sweet Prince.”

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Your Bathroom Mirror Vs. Your Rearview Mirror

Bathroom Mirror: Well done, sir! Every hair on your head is nicely in place, and you have this natural feathering effect thing going on! Surely that hair loss scare of three years ago was all just stress. Venture out into the world, my fine feathered friend, for you are the John Stamos of English education!

Rearview Mirror: Morning, Shatner! What is that limp, greasy, washed out thing on your head? It looks like a ferret took a crap up there and you tried swirling it around with a fro pick to cover that spot where your own mother said you were thinning on top. You know what the most pathetic thing is about it? It looks like you’re trying to be 20 when you’re 30. There are cosmetic scissors in the glove box. You know what you have to do.

Bathroom Mirror: Your beard looks so nice it’s like a dozen Liliputian landscapers raked and mowed their hearts away to create this sculpted majesty it thrills me to reflect! No, pay no mind to the little bit of growth on your neck, nor to that tiny blemish budding at the corner of your mouth. Your majestic facial mane keeps the former at bay, eclipses the latter! Venture out into the world, my paragon of testosterone, for you are the Zeus of English education!

Rearview Mirror: What is that thing on your face? No, not that beard with the hazy trim line that makes it so I can’t tell where your double chin is supposed to end and your scapula is supposed to begin. Seriously though, why didn’t you shave? No I mean that… Okay, let me rephrase. Where is your face? Because next to that red giant star on the corner of your mouth, bleeding its foul light into the universe at the speed of ugly, the rest of you is just background noise. There are thumb tacks in your wannabe-teacher-of-the-year kit. You know what you have to do.

Bathroom Mirror: Those teeth! Marbled marvels of perfection! That optic white toothpaste you’ve been using really has made a difference! And with the contours of your mouth such as they are, no one can tell that your wisdom teeth slightly askewed your bottom row! The hollows of thine nose and ears are clear, and thy sideburns cut as evenly as the Scales of Justice! Venture out into the world, my highly hygienic friend, for you are the scrubbing bubbles of English education!

Rearview Mirror: Are those kernels of corn in your teeth? No, those are your teeth. Wow. And your underbite looks like the Titanic hit the glacier, survived, flipped a b—-, and tried it again! Your nose hair isn’t blending so well with that caterpillar you call a mustache, and as for those nostrils, you have bats in the cave, man, bats in the cave. Sure, you can pick and pluck while driving. No one will notice. Your sideburns? Sure, they’re even. It’s your friggin’ ears that aren’t on straight! You know what? There’s a roadside cliff where the guard rail gave out a couple miles ahead. You know what you have to do.

Me: I could turn you around, you know.

Rearview Mirror: Yeah, go ahead and try that. See how long you last without me. I mean, if you had eyes in the back of your head, you could see that bald spot…

Me: But do the people I run into see what the bathroom mirror sees or what you see?

Rearview Mirror: I’ll play the part of the therapist. What do you think? And how does that make you feel?

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