OPEN WIDE AND SAY “ARRRRRGGGGHHHHH!”
I seem to be my own worst enemy. Sure that seems obvious if you have ever heard me criticize my looks, which I'm trying to work on just shutting up now. I know I'm really hard on myself, but I also know I'm a work in progress. But I'm not talking about my being my own worst enemy emotionally. I have come to realize that I'm my own worst enemy physically!
I am quite the klutz, or maybe I should say I'm careless. I will trip on air and choke on my own saliva. I have burned my own face; pulled out the oven shelf with no mitts; slammed my left hand in my car by myself; poked myself in the eye numerous times trying to drink from straws; and constantly hit myself in the face with my hands or objects I'm holding because I use my hands too much when I talk. I won't pay attention while driving either. I have driven on flat tires for miles; continued my trip with steam flying out of my hood; ran over logs that I was too lazy to swerve around...all things that likely weren't to safe for my best interest. And we don't even want to go into my disaster zone towards others! I have accepted this and just know that it is part of what makes me who I am. I can get over the cuts, bruises and burns. What I have a difficult time dealing with, more out of brief embarrassment and wonder, is things getting stuck in some part of me.
I have written of the incidents of things getting stuck in my coo in the past, so I won't rehash that. However, there are other orifices to tend to! And no, I have never had anything stuck up my butt, so you can give your sighs of relief now. Actually, when I think about it, the only other orifice I've had things stuck in were my mouth. I'm fortunate enough to only have things stuck in my mouth every ten or so years though. Let us reflect...
THE WATER PICK
I was twelve years old and about to get braces. However, they first had to put in spacers. After that they put what I can only describe as a metal spider on the roof of my mouth. It was a flat sheet of metal that covered the roof of my mouth and only hung down maybe 1/2 an inch. This stayed up from the four "legs" that splayed out from it and were connected to bands that wrapped around two molars on each side of my upper row of teeth. The thing SUCKED! It was uncomfortable, but worst of all they told me I would get food stuck in the narrow gap between the roof of my mouth and the metal plate. They suggested we invest in a water pick to clear that up.
The water pick seemed to work fine for getting out small pieces of food and so it just became habit to eat, then clean out the gap. That is, until the pizza incident.
My family had ordered pizza one night. I'd had this before while wearing my contraption and had never had a problem. Unfortunately this time I think I was a bit too hungry and a bit too greedy. I took a whopping bite of pizza. As I shoved the slice into my mouth, I didn't realize I'd shoved the majority of it into the gap between the metal spider and the roof of my mouth. I chomped down, withdrew the pizza and then felt that none of it made its way to a chewable place. It was all in the spider. shit!
Being 12, I was of course extremely overdramatic about everything. This was about as bad as being on fire in my mind. I screamed and ran for the bathroom. I tried to shove my finger into the gap, full well knowing it wasn't going to make it in. I ran back out to the kitchen, now crying, screaming that the pizza was stuck in my spider gap. My family did its usual stare they gave me when I was flipping out over something they deemed petty. "Well Heather, use your water pick then." My mother didn't realize how much was in there.
I dramatically flung myself back in the hall wailing like a banshee. I went into the bathroom and grabbed my water pick and went to town. Nothing. It did absolutely nothing. The only amount of water that was going to get that puppy out would have to come from a fire hose. Of course I wasn't going to give up. I thought that maybe if I got the water pick itself in the gap, and not just its spray, this would work.
I jammed the water pick into the gap, feeling it rip open the roof of my mouth, and began spraying. I felt some of the pizza break away. It was working! So I shoved the water pick in further into the gap and sprayed more. More pizza began shooting out the back of the gap and into the back of my throat where I began to choke. I went to withdraw the pick so I could catch my breath and stop choking for a moment. Problem was, the water pick was now stuck in the gap. I screamed loudly, though it was slightly muted since I had a dental device lodge in my mouth. I ran out of the bathroom with the fucking water pick sticking straight out of my mouth, and into the kitchen where I was met with hysterical laughter.
"Ehhh naw unny!" I screamed, tears pouring down my face. Yet of course my warped family that gave me my sense of humor couldn't stop laughing.
"Ehh uck! Omeone elp eeee! ELP EEEEEEE!" I screamed!
My mother finally volunteered to, and through her laughs she helped me wriggle the water pick out of my mouth. It cut the hell out of me, but it was finally out of me. I just left the rest of the pizza in the gap to erode on it's own time. The water pick had gone from friend to foe all in a matter of Dominos.
THE VELCRO
The next incident came about ten to twelve years later. I was somewhere between 22 and 24 and hanging out at my parents' house. I have this really bad habit of chewing on my sleeves. It's become better as I get older, but it used to be so bad that I would chew holes in the wrists of my long-sleeved shirts from gnawing on it. It used to be a really bad habit. Well, let me tell you...that habit bit me in the ass!
As I recall, I was sitting on the couch watching T.V. I was wearing my snowboarding jacket (and no, I've never snowboarded) that had velcro on the wrists so you could tighten them up and not let the snow in. Gnaw. Gnaw. Gnaw. I chewed away on the wrist of my sleeve mesmerized by the T.V. Of course, every gnawing session must end, so I pulled my sleeve away from my mouth, only horrible pain ran up my tongue and my sleeve wouldn't budge past a few inches. I ran into the bathroom to see what was going on. With my sleeve still up to my mouth, I opened wide and saw it. A rogue piece of velcro had unwound and looped around one, single taste bud.
How did this happen? I tried to pull it free and felt pain. Okay, I can do this. Just yank hard and rip it free. I did so, but it wouldn't release and just caused more pain. My arm was starting to get sore from holding it up for so long now. I went out to the living room and showed my parents. I was once again met with laughter.
"Well the how the heck did you do that?" Inquired my father.
"I as thewing aww my sleef!" I responded. More laughter.
Teamwork ensued as everyone took turns trying to yank my sleeve free from my mouth. Each time, their efforts were met with a cry of pain. "Awwwwwggghhhh!"
After what seemed like forever trying to free my now numb arm from the vicinity of my mouth, my mother grabbed the scissors. Having scissors coming at your tongue is a very scary thing. You fear that a muscle tick or a sneeze might hit as the weapon is in your mouth, and then I would end up looking like my former speech therapist who had a slit going down the length of his tongue, or his assistant who had no hand, just a nubbin' at the end of her wrist.
"Juth do' cuh me!" I warbled.
Snip! My wrist released from my mouth and the blood rushed back into my arm. I ran into the bathroom and opened my mouth. There the remaining piece of velcro hung from the taste bud it was mating with. I accepted that once again it would naturally have to dissolve.
My mom turned to me and asked, "So are you going to stop chewing on your sleeves now?"
I sat down ignoring her, took off my jacket and began to chew on the sleeve of my shirt underneath the jacket.
THE DENTAL FLOSS
Fast forward to Monday. I'd had lunch and felt something stuck in one of my back teeth. I kept trying to get it out, but couldn't. After about ten minutes, it was driving me mad! I'd seen some dental floss in the medicine cabinet at work and ran for the bathroom as I always do. Just floss it out, simple enough. Little did I know it was the beginning of yet another orifice debacle.
The floss was really crappy, very thin and worn. So what? It's still floss. I ripped off a strand, wrapped the end around my finger and shoved it into the problem area. I felt the perpetrator release and went to pull the floss out. Thing is, it didn't budge. I tried again. Nothing. And again. Nothing. The damned floss was stuck in my teeth! I yanked and yanked, and it wouldn't come out. Go the other way. I let go of both ends of the string so they were now dangling out either side of my tooth. I pulled one end outward rather than down, as if I were sewing. Well it caught and broke off, balling up in my teeth. A wad of dental floss now replaced the perpetrator. I took more floss and try to un-wedge the ball of floss now stuck. Then THAT got stuck! There was no room to pull it out the way I'd originally done so though. I gave up, released the floss letting it hang out of my mouth and went into my mother's office.
"Mom, I have a bunch of floss stuck in my tooth." At least this time nothing was blocking the entrance to my mouth and I could communicate effectively.
She laughed and shook her head and once again, ten years later, went for the scissors and cut the dangling floss out of my mouth as I stood by the copier. The middle was of course still stuck, as well as it's previous dweller's balled up version of itself. My mom had better floss and that got stuck at first, but then it worked and got out the majority of the stuck floss. However it didn't get all of it. I still had some stripped down remnant of floss attempt #2 dangling from my tooth. My mom's floss ran out though, so I took my lunch, drove home and fixed the problem once and for all.
As I ponder my oral adventures, I think to myself, "You know Heather, it's a good thing you're single. Who knows what misfortunes you could endure with a second party." So with that I smile and feel good knowing that being alone is quite possibly saving another's mouth or appendage. It's my unintentional community service.
I am quite the klutz, or maybe I should say I'm careless. I will trip on air and choke on my own saliva. I have burned my own face; pulled out the oven shelf with no mitts; slammed my left hand in my car by myself; poked myself in the eye numerous times trying to drink from straws; and constantly hit myself in the face with my hands or objects I'm holding because I use my hands too much when I talk. I won't pay attention while driving either. I have driven on flat tires for miles; continued my trip with steam flying out of my hood; ran over logs that I was too lazy to swerve around...all things that likely weren't to safe for my best interest. And we don't even want to go into my disaster zone towards others! I have accepted this and just know that it is part of what makes me who I am. I can get over the cuts, bruises and burns. What I have a difficult time dealing with, more out of brief embarrassment and wonder, is things getting stuck in some part of me.
I have written of the incidents of things getting stuck in my coo in the past, so I won't rehash that. However, there are other orifices to tend to! And no, I have never had anything stuck up my butt, so you can give your sighs of relief now. Actually, when I think about it, the only other orifice I've had things stuck in were my mouth. I'm fortunate enough to only have things stuck in my mouth every ten or so years though. Let us reflect...
THE WATER PICK
I was twelve years old and about to get braces. However, they first had to put in spacers. After that they put what I can only describe as a metal spider on the roof of my mouth. It was a flat sheet of metal that covered the roof of my mouth and only hung down maybe 1/2 an inch. This stayed up from the four "legs" that splayed out from it and were connected to bands that wrapped around two molars on each side of my upper row of teeth. The thing SUCKED! It was uncomfortable, but worst of all they told me I would get food stuck in the narrow gap between the roof of my mouth and the metal plate. They suggested we invest in a water pick to clear that up.
The water pick seemed to work fine for getting out small pieces of food and so it just became habit to eat, then clean out the gap. That is, until the pizza incident.
My family had ordered pizza one night. I'd had this before while wearing my contraption and had never had a problem. Unfortunately this time I think I was a bit too hungry and a bit too greedy. I took a whopping bite of pizza. As I shoved the slice into my mouth, I didn't realize I'd shoved the majority of it into the gap between the metal spider and the roof of my mouth. I chomped down, withdrew the pizza and then felt that none of it made its way to a chewable place. It was all in the spider. shit!
Being 12, I was of course extremely overdramatic about everything. This was about as bad as being on fire in my mind. I screamed and ran for the bathroom. I tried to shove my finger into the gap, full well knowing it wasn't going to make it in. I ran back out to the kitchen, now crying, screaming that the pizza was stuck in my spider gap. My family did its usual stare they gave me when I was flipping out over something they deemed petty. "Well Heather, use your water pick then." My mother didn't realize how much was in there.
I dramatically flung myself back in the hall wailing like a banshee. I went into the bathroom and grabbed my water pick and went to town. Nothing. It did absolutely nothing. The only amount of water that was going to get that puppy out would have to come from a fire hose. Of course I wasn't going to give up. I thought that maybe if I got the water pick itself in the gap, and not just its spray, this would work.
I jammed the water pick into the gap, feeling it rip open the roof of my mouth, and began spraying. I felt some of the pizza break away. It was working! So I shoved the water pick in further into the gap and sprayed more. More pizza began shooting out the back of the gap and into the back of my throat where I began to choke. I went to withdraw the pick so I could catch my breath and stop choking for a moment. Problem was, the water pick was now stuck in the gap. I screamed loudly, though it was slightly muted since I had a dental device lodge in my mouth. I ran out of the bathroom with the fucking water pick sticking straight out of my mouth, and into the kitchen where I was met with hysterical laughter.
"Ehhh naw unny!" I screamed, tears pouring down my face. Yet of course my warped family that gave me my sense of humor couldn't stop laughing.
"Ehh uck! Omeone elp eeee! ELP EEEEEEE!" I screamed!
My mother finally volunteered to, and through her laughs she helped me wriggle the water pick out of my mouth. It cut the hell out of me, but it was finally out of me. I just left the rest of the pizza in the gap to erode on it's own time. The water pick had gone from friend to foe all in a matter of Dominos.
THE VELCRO
The next incident came about ten to twelve years later. I was somewhere between 22 and 24 and hanging out at my parents' house. I have this really bad habit of chewing on my sleeves. It's become better as I get older, but it used to be so bad that I would chew holes in the wrists of my long-sleeved shirts from gnawing on it. It used to be a really bad habit. Well, let me tell you...that habit bit me in the ass!
As I recall, I was sitting on the couch watching T.V. I was wearing my snowboarding jacket (and no, I've never snowboarded) that had velcro on the wrists so you could tighten them up and not let the snow in. Gnaw. Gnaw. Gnaw. I chewed away on the wrist of my sleeve mesmerized by the T.V. Of course, every gnawing session must end, so I pulled my sleeve away from my mouth, only horrible pain ran up my tongue and my sleeve wouldn't budge past a few inches. I ran into the bathroom to see what was going on. With my sleeve still up to my mouth, I opened wide and saw it. A rogue piece of velcro had unwound and looped around one, single taste bud.
How did this happen? I tried to pull it free and felt pain. Okay, I can do this. Just yank hard and rip it free. I did so, but it wouldn't release and just caused more pain. My arm was starting to get sore from holding it up for so long now. I went out to the living room and showed my parents. I was once again met with laughter.
"Well the how the heck did you do that?" Inquired my father.
"I as thewing aww my sleef!" I responded. More laughter.
Teamwork ensued as everyone took turns trying to yank my sleeve free from my mouth. Each time, their efforts were met with a cry of pain. "Awwwwwggghhhh!"
After what seemed like forever trying to free my now numb arm from the vicinity of my mouth, my mother grabbed the scissors. Having scissors coming at your tongue is a very scary thing. You fear that a muscle tick or a sneeze might hit as the weapon is in your mouth, and then I would end up looking like my former speech therapist who had a slit going down the length of his tongue, or his assistant who had no hand, just a nubbin' at the end of her wrist.
"Juth do' cuh me!" I warbled.
Snip! My wrist released from my mouth and the blood rushed back into my arm. I ran into the bathroom and opened my mouth. There the remaining piece of velcro hung from the taste bud it was mating with. I accepted that once again it would naturally have to dissolve.
My mom turned to me and asked, "So are you going to stop chewing on your sleeves now?"
I sat down ignoring her, took off my jacket and began to chew on the sleeve of my shirt underneath the jacket.
THE DENTAL FLOSS
Fast forward to Monday. I'd had lunch and felt something stuck in one of my back teeth. I kept trying to get it out, but couldn't. After about ten minutes, it was driving me mad! I'd seen some dental floss in the medicine cabinet at work and ran for the bathroom as I always do. Just floss it out, simple enough. Little did I know it was the beginning of yet another orifice debacle.
The floss was really crappy, very thin and worn. So what? It's still floss. I ripped off a strand, wrapped the end around my finger and shoved it into the problem area. I felt the perpetrator release and went to pull the floss out. Thing is, it didn't budge. I tried again. Nothing. And again. Nothing. The damned floss was stuck in my teeth! I yanked and yanked, and it wouldn't come out. Go the other way. I let go of both ends of the string so they were now dangling out either side of my tooth. I pulled one end outward rather than down, as if I were sewing. Well it caught and broke off, balling up in my teeth. A wad of dental floss now replaced the perpetrator. I took more floss and try to un-wedge the ball of floss now stuck. Then THAT got stuck! There was no room to pull it out the way I'd originally done so though. I gave up, released the floss letting it hang out of my mouth and went into my mother's office.
"Mom, I have a bunch of floss stuck in my tooth." At least this time nothing was blocking the entrance to my mouth and I could communicate effectively.
She laughed and shook her head and once again, ten years later, went for the scissors and cut the dangling floss out of my mouth as I stood by the copier. The middle was of course still stuck, as well as it's previous dweller's balled up version of itself. My mom had better floss and that got stuck at first, but then it worked and got out the majority of the stuck floss. However it didn't get all of it. I still had some stripped down remnant of floss attempt #2 dangling from my tooth. My mom's floss ran out though, so I took my lunch, drove home and fixed the problem once and for all.
As I ponder my oral adventures, I think to myself, "You know Heather, it's a good thing you're single. Who knows what misfortunes you could endure with a second party." So with that I smile and feel good knowing that being alone is quite possibly saving another's mouth or appendage. It's my unintentional community service.
