Missing Teeth

I lost my teeth this morning. No, not dentures, it was my retainers I misplaced. As a late-in-life victim of braces, I expect to be in retention for the rest of my life, “Because,” the doctor warns, “at this stage in life, who knows which direction the teeth would take if they were all set free.”

I remember putting them in before bed, both the top and bottom set, but at the four forty-five a.m. wake-up call, when I glanced in the mirror at my breakfast head, they were missing in action.

Two-hundred and fifty dollars worth of scenarios raced through my mind as I panicked because, this being my second replacement set, I’m less assured that left alone they will find their way home.

As I searched, I rehashed the ideas out loud. “My teeth are missing. Could I have dreamed a very expensive snack, like escargot on really stale crackers?”

My bunkmate rolled over and groaned. A lot of help he was. “I went to bed with a headache, did I pull them out at midnight?” They weren’t on the nightstand, or on the floor, and only the top set was missing. Weird.

I searched across the room by the distant wall, where I’ve been known to fling them before. As the panic increased, I slung covers and sheets into the air, and the frantic panic ensued, “Where could they be?”

“Finally,” I yelled, “I found my teeth! They were under the pillow.” My bedmate, roused by the chaos crawled back onto the bed, pulled the covers back over himself, and mumbled, “Well, I hope the fairy left money.”

Reality Bite: Yup! Two hundred and fifty dollars!