Larry Hnetka Goes HMmmm

Dentists: you either love them or you hate them.

Things I dislike: the chair, the slobber bib, the drills, the freezing, the smell of burning teeth, the drills, the dental dam, open wider, don’t swallow, swish, the drills, the temporary crown cement. Yup, not much I like about going to the dentist to tell you the truth.

I’ve just had two old crowns replaced. My dental plan doesn’t cover crowns at all. The crowns are visible and so of course they have to be the expensive gold overlaid with porcelain crowns.

Yikes, my pocketbook is weeping and right before Christmas too.

Dentures: I’m glad I don’t have them.

My sister Brenda can spot a set of false teeth from 50 yards away. Dentures are probably the only reason I do go to the dentist.

My Uncle Jack had all his teeth yanked out when he was not that old. He never did get dentures. He could gum a steak down with the best of the carnivores in my family. Because I never did see him with teeth, I guess seeing him toothless was just the way he was.

Toupees: the worst cosmetic infliction thrust upon men.

Me, I can spot a toupee from even farther than my sister can spot dentures. If a spot a bad toupee, I just cringe and rub my balding pate.

While on vacation in Florida, we stayed at a guest house in Key West. Our room overlooked the courtyard and pool. Every morning this guy would strut around the pool deck, drop his terry cloth bathrobe and slip into the pool for an early morning swim.

It wasn’t so much the ritual with which he pranced around the courtyard. It wasn’t the various neon coloured Speedos he wore each day. What made this guy stand out was his monotone coloured toupee with the cleanest north-south part you could ever imagine.

The first day, I just gaped and watched him swim. He held his head above water the entire time.

The second day, my jaw dropped. The part in his toupee now was on the opposite side. The third day, I stifled a laugh. His toupee part ran east and west that day.

Every day after that, we bet on where his toupee would part. Like a tropical storm, I could predict his toupee part almost without thinking.

Remember the joke about a man with a toupee, a young woman, a lost toupee, the punchline to which is, “That isn’t mine; I don’t part it down the middle”?

This entry was posted on Wednesday, December 6th, 2006 at 11:31:43 PM and is filed under JOURNAL. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.