My second wisdom tooth is behaving in every way like its predecessor. It came in, straight and true, plenty of room, no trouble . . . and no enamel. No soon did it fully emerged did it begin to dissolve. Silly tooth. Did you not see what happened to the last wisdom tooth that gave me shit? We ripped that one out by the roots.
The tooth, realising that its time is near, is behaving like this is its last week at a job it already hated: it's causing as much trouble as possible. Today, while I was brushing, a tiny bit of tooth crumbled. I spat it out, unaware that the tooth was not merely decaying--it was creating for itself a weapon. A long, sharp, jagged splinter with which it could gouge its initials into the side of my mouth, over and over. Pretty soon it'll hang a poster of Rita Hayworth to disguise the hole and start plotting to escape before I can get it to the dentist.
That's all she wrote!