Well, Michael has just returned from his visit to the dentist. Or as I like to call it, "Disneyland in an office building." That place is absolutely unreal. It's got cheery green and purple chairs with huge pillows, X-Box games on flat-screens, a gigantic movie screen projecting everything from "The Chipmunks," to "Toy Story," to "Scooby-Doo." Oh, and you can watch your movie on the gigantic movie screen from your very own spaceship.
And that's just the lobby!!
Once you cross into the once-dreaded exam area, you've got a vast assortment of toys and your own personal flat-screen movie to watch while the dentist does his work. It's like heaven on Earth for a 4 year old. Michael had two cavities filled and a crown inserted this morning, and he didn't even blink an eye. When we left he actually mumbled "I want to live here," out of his extremely numb little mouth.
All I can say is ... THIS IS SO NOT FAIR!!! I never had movies, and X-Box games and space ships! They never let me wear ultra-cool sunglasses and listen to music while I had my teeth worked on! I never got to watch "Scooby-Doo!" This is an outrage! I demand justice! I want my childhood back!!
Here's what I remember about going to the dentist when I was a wee-lad. Keep in mind that I had a very good dentist and didn't really mind the experience. But compared to Michael's little playland, my experiences might as well have taken place in a cave somewhere. I remember a dark office with drab brown couches and silence. In the corner was a "kids" area that consisted of legos, dolls with body parts missing, and several "brushing your teeth is fun" kids books. The exam rooms were packed with creepy utensils and gas masks. The only "entertainment" consisted of large posters of flowers with messages like "Springtime is awesome!" hanging from the ceiling. Or something like that.
What a jip! My only question now is ... How young do you think I could pass for? Ten? Twelve? I hear they're playing "Cars" next week and I want to make sure I get a good seat on the spaceship.
Brush your teeth kiddies! Actually, scratch that. Don't brush your teeth kiddies! Then you can go to the dentist (yay!!!).
- Dave
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Monday, July 6, 2009
Ouchipoo!
Not to be a wuss or anything, but MY PINKY TOE HURTS!! I mean it really hurts! It resembles a large purple plum right now, and I'm not happy about it. I've managed to be a tough little trooper and abstain from crying (mostly), but I'm not sure how much longer my valiant courage will persist. There is only so much super-human manliness one can expect from even the greatest studs, such as myself.
Ouchy ouchy, my toey huhts!
How did I come upon this most serious and dreadful of injuries (while valiantly keeping the crying to a minimum and really not complaining about it whatsoever)? I'm glad you asked. I place the blame entirely on the stupid neighbor cats! Let me explain:
My sad tale of woe began yesterday afternoon under a deceptively cheerful blue sky. I agreed to lend my bulging biceps to the task of removing the top portion of our Jeep (or "The Green Machine" as it is known at the Ward castle). We have a tarp in our side yard, and the plan was to place the Jeep top on the tarp. Sounds reasonable and logical, right? Well, here is where our story turns a bit surreal.
I noticed several puddles of what I assumed to be rain water covering the tarp. I diligently began lifting the tarp and pouring out the "rain water." A great deal of this "rain water" spilled over my Gladiator-like feet during this intricate process.
That is when I first noticed the smell.
"Boy, this rain water sure stinks," I thought to myself while admiring my God-like physique in the afternoon sunlight. "It smells a bit like cat pee."
A few moments passed and a rusty light bulb began faintly flickering above my head.
"I do believe this smell, that ranks among the worst smells I have ever smelled in my life, might in fact be cat pee," my brilliant brain deduced.
It took April about three-tenths of a second to confirm my diagnosis.
"Oh yeah, that's cat pee all right," she said while grasping her nose in a pointless attempt to curtail the stench.
I managed to silence my gag reflex long enough to help April move the Jeep top over the tarp. Just for jokesies I decided to yell out hilarious things like, "It's SO heavy!!" and "Dear God, I can't lift this. I think my arms are broken!!" It was all in fun, you see. I only dropped the Jeep top three times. A personal record, if I do say so myself!
After securing the tarp, and allowing for my customary five minutes of whining and recovery, I bolted for the bathroom to wash cat tinkle off the royal feet. The left foot responded beautifully and received a soothing bath in the sink. That pesky right foot, however, decided to ram it's pinky toe into a head-on collision with the bathroom counter. I thought it was a horrible decision and expressed my discontent with great volume.
I continued to vent my displeasure as April, Michael and I drove off in our newly topless Jeep to experience a little minor league baseball. When we arrived at the ballpark, it became evident that my pinky toe was severely distraught over the entire ordeal. It began swelling to roughly the size of Delaware and turning a shade of purple that you really have to experience to fully appreciate.
I began limping around the stadium with such distinction that kids began helping me to and from the bathroom and calling me "Gramps." I immediately began lecturing those young whippersnappers on the evils of rock n' roll music and how you used to be able to buy a soda for a nickle in the good old days. By the time we left for home I was somehow wearing khaki pants and searching for my dentures. Strange really.
So now I'm sitting here being very tough this morning and not letting my trauma affect me in any way. On a completely unrelated note, my eyes keep watering and I find myself thinking a lot about my mother. Strange really.
Stay away from cat pee kiddies!
- Dave
Ouchy ouchy, my toey huhts!
How did I come upon this most serious and dreadful of injuries (while valiantly keeping the crying to a minimum and really not complaining about it whatsoever)? I'm glad you asked. I place the blame entirely on the stupid neighbor cats! Let me explain:
My sad tale of woe began yesterday afternoon under a deceptively cheerful blue sky. I agreed to lend my bulging biceps to the task of removing the top portion of our Jeep (or "The Green Machine" as it is known at the Ward castle). We have a tarp in our side yard, and the plan was to place the Jeep top on the tarp. Sounds reasonable and logical, right? Well, here is where our story turns a bit surreal.
I noticed several puddles of what I assumed to be rain water covering the tarp. I diligently began lifting the tarp and pouring out the "rain water." A great deal of this "rain water" spilled over my Gladiator-like feet during this intricate process.
That is when I first noticed the smell.
"Boy, this rain water sure stinks," I thought to myself while admiring my God-like physique in the afternoon sunlight. "It smells a bit like cat pee."
A few moments passed and a rusty light bulb began faintly flickering above my head.
"I do believe this smell, that ranks among the worst smells I have ever smelled in my life, might in fact be cat pee," my brilliant brain deduced.
It took April about three-tenths of a second to confirm my diagnosis.
"Oh yeah, that's cat pee all right," she said while grasping her nose in a pointless attempt to curtail the stench.
I managed to silence my gag reflex long enough to help April move the Jeep top over the tarp. Just for jokesies I decided to yell out hilarious things like, "It's SO heavy!!" and "Dear God, I can't lift this. I think my arms are broken!!" It was all in fun, you see. I only dropped the Jeep top three times. A personal record, if I do say so myself!
After securing the tarp, and allowing for my customary five minutes of whining and recovery, I bolted for the bathroom to wash cat tinkle off the royal feet. The left foot responded beautifully and received a soothing bath in the sink. That pesky right foot, however, decided to ram it's pinky toe into a head-on collision with the bathroom counter. I thought it was a horrible decision and expressed my discontent with great volume.
I continued to vent my displeasure as April, Michael and I drove off in our newly topless Jeep to experience a little minor league baseball. When we arrived at the ballpark, it became evident that my pinky toe was severely distraught over the entire ordeal. It began swelling to roughly the size of Delaware and turning a shade of purple that you really have to experience to fully appreciate.
I began limping around the stadium with such distinction that kids began helping me to and from the bathroom and calling me "Gramps." I immediately began lecturing those young whippersnappers on the evils of rock n' roll music and how you used to be able to buy a soda for a nickle in the good old days. By the time we left for home I was somehow wearing khaki pants and searching for my dentures. Strange really.
So now I'm sitting here being very tough this morning and not letting my trauma affect me in any way. On a completely unrelated note, my eyes keep watering and I find myself thinking a lot about my mother. Strange really.
Stay away from cat pee kiddies!
- Dave
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