On acting the asshole and being wrong

I awoke this morning to find I had transformed into a snaggle-toothed pirate. This had nothing to do with the wine Rohanna and I drank last night. I think. One of my little bone-graft-spacer thingys-- pontics, lil' fake teeth-- had completely rotated around and was sticking out of my moth like an asymmetrical chiclet.

As it was Saturday morning, many dental office answering machines were consulted, and finally a call was answered to my "no-longer-beholden-to-me" periodontist, Dr. ----, on his personal cellphone. The long and short of this tale is that he was completely understanding, met us downtown at his office, fixed my tooth, spoke nicely to my mother and I, and then apologized about our previous two interactions of his own volition. Truly, I was astounded.

& I am going to take him back.