Hello!

"Hey, honey--that large, avuncular, jocose, garrulous guy is back." "Tell him to go away, he makes me nervous!"

HAH!! Not so easy!

Anyway, yesterday's trip to the tooth torturer was actually very, VERY, nice. First of all, yesterday afternoon was absolutely gorgeous, so it was nice to get out. Got to the office, was taken right back to the chair that faces out the window to the bird feeder, which was nice and relaxing. (Although the feeder didn't have real birds, but those fat flying rats known as doves. Big messy moochers hog the whole thing--one of them was just lying down in the tray gobbling up seeds.)

Anyway, Doc Nancy came in and I started screaming and crying and moaning and acting like a little baby as I begged her not to hurt me. She said she could give me a shot, but it really would hurt worse than what she was going to do. "Well, okay, but you know I'm just..."

"A great big wuss?"

"Yes, ma'am, I'm a great big wuss." She patted me on the shoulder and started to work--off with the plastic crown, clean the glue out--"Hay! Ooo nah' ganna blah 'at air uhcos my 'oot, ah u?!"--"No, no--just going to use some gauze. It'll be okay." Then some fiddling around with the new one--pop on, pop off, pop on, check margin, pop off, pop on, check bite, bit high, do some grinding, pop on, fits fine, pop off, spread on some stinky bonding agent that smelled like burning tires and moth balls, squirt of some cee-ment (pronounce it like Jed Clampett for the full effect) and the final pop on, bite some cotton rolls, slobber uncontrollably for five minutes, and then I'm done! Took all of fifteen minutes and NO PAIN!! Halleluiah.

The pain comes in here with the final outcome on the Oldsmobiteme--as you recall from yesterday's thrilling post, a remanufactured GM transaxle was going to set me back almost two and a half big ones. (Which for me is anything over $2.50, but in this case was up in the two-point-four-five thousands) Before I left for the day, Don called with the news that they had found a used tranny from a wrecking yard with 78,000 miles on it, and the price would drop down a grand. But no warranty. ::sigh::

Oh well, it's only money.

I figure if I pay myself twenty bucks a week for cutting my grass, I should be able to get it paid off in about three years.
posted by Terry at 9:44:00 AM