I had a tooth pulled last week. A molar. I think it’s the fourth tooth I ever had pulled. I have the worst bleeping teeth. Last time, I ended up with something called “dry socket,” which basically means (gross out alert) the blood clot in the tooth basically disappears and the bone is exposed and the pain was the absolute worst I ever experienced in my life. Can’t even describe it. Just … wow. Easy fix, as it turns out, but until then … yeah. Max pain. So of course I’ve been worried sick I was going to end up with another dry socket, and, as I write this, some 90 hours post-extraction, I think I’m going to avoid it. But man oh momma, this one hurt. Constant pain and throbbing, and the Motrin/Tylenol cocktail barely made a dent. I swear: If I ever have to have another tooth pulled, I’m going to demand a medical coma for the duration of the process. I can’t deal with it. I hate having to go to the dentist. ***** My grandfather was a dentist, although he was long retired by the time I came around. Additionally, he was stooped over, wore glasses, was prone to yelling at talk radio, always wore a sweater, and bald. He was like central casting grandpa. And despite his advanced age — he was about 85 at the time of this story — he was really, really, strong. So: Former dentist + strong grandpa = do not go near this man with a loose baby tooth. First time he asked to look at a loose tooth of mine, I was an innocent. I walked on over, he peered in my mouth, stuck his meaty paw in there, and then — like Houdini — he had a tooth in his hand. My tooth. I don’t recall pain. I do recall a bit of pain the next time this happened, and by the third time, I locked myself in the bathroom to avoid his manual dentistry. “I’ll give you $50 if you let me look,” he said. I didn’t budge. He then threatened to give the 50 bucks to my dork-ass brother if I didn’t comply. I still didn’t comply, and my dork-ass brother ended up $50 richer for it. ***** I didn’t always hate going to the dentist. My first dentist was Dr. Kayne, who, I believe, either worked with my grandpa or took over his practice or something. They were connected. And he was good. I remember my first cavity. He didn’t even stick me with novacaine. No idea how he did that. Loved my next dentist as well — Dr. Kayne’s son, who my mother babysat. Great guy, great dentist. In fact, he’s still my parents’ dentist, but he’s up in Clifton, and so I had to find my own dentist down here. At this point, I genuinely like my dentist, Dr. Lyons. She’s awesome. I trust her, she’ll talk to me on the phone if I have questions/concerns, she’s kind, she’s everything you want in a dentist. I’d also like to never see her again. Dental work, man. I still want to hide in the bathroom. It’s not the dentists I dislike — it’s the fact my teeth suck. (Can I sue my parents? I feel like I should be able to sue my parents.) As I’ve said, I’ve had four teeth pulled, and that’s not counting the wisdom teeth, which were also yanked. I’ve had enough root canals to be able to do a YouTube tutorial on how to do them. Crowns? You betcha. Fake teeth? One now, two soon. Cavities? Hahahahahaha. Bottom line? I don’t care whether you believe in a God up above or nature taking its own course, teeth are not a solved game. Let’s get back to the drawing board on this one.