On the evening of the 3rd of July, I chipped a molar. On a chicken tender, no less. A chicken TENDER. I didn't bite down on something hard and feel a crunch; it was more like something between my teeth. And when I went to remove it, it was my tooth. Long story short, I hadn't been to the dentist in years, and I found one the following Monday that was taking new patients. I went in, got a cleaning, and made about a half-dozen more appointments to have various issues dealt with.
Anyway, ever since the hygienist got my mouth nice and clean, I want to brush (and floss!) my teeth as soon as I'm finished eating anything. Suddenly, I am constantly staring at myself in the mirror, counting to thirty while I concentrate on going up-and-down and not side-to-side on each quadrant.
*Snoopy brusha brusha toothbrush, when you wake up in the morning...*
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