I wasn’t even eating anything. I’ve broken molars before; the first one, like, ten years ago. But I was always eating something, popcorn usually. Once it was corn on the cob at a neighborhood barbeque so I spent the rest of the party thalking lak dith... There’s usually a reason. This time it just broke.
It’s like Dana Carvey’s joke about middle-aged people popping their rotator cuff reaching for the phone.
I was walking out of a store and suddenly felt a chunk of crunchy stuff in my mouth and there was a sharp edge on my back molar. It doesn’t hurt. It’s not sensitive to cold. So I decided not to make an appointment with my dentist, to just wait until my regular check-up to tell her about it. Of course, that made me feel like my dad.
He rarely went to the dentist and when he did it was always to because he had a tooth that hurt so much and he just wanted the guy to pull it. Never any bridgework or fillings. Just yank it out doc. I always pictured him in a Civil War tent, some scruffy old guy leaning over him with rusty pliers, knee on my dad’s chest.
So, yeah. Another sign that I’m not as young as I used to be. At least the parts that are still attached.