It's coming out. Just not today.

So there I was, shivering like a Mexican in Canada, all pysched up about having a tooth extracted. Scared. okay, more like terrified.

I dragged my sorry carcass out of bed at the unGodly hour of 7:30am to get dressed and ready for my visit to the Oral Maxillofacial surgeon. Hadn't eaten in 8 hours - as they told me not to. I sat there, filling out forms for almost 30 minutes. Disclaimer this. Disclaimer that. I promse not to sue if this happens. I promise not to bite him if I think he deserves it. Blah blah blah.

Eventualy I go through. I sit on that cold, hard, plastic chair and in he walks. He checks my glands, asks a barrage of questions (including a request for an elaboration on question 44 on one of the sheets I answered - suffice if to say it regarded the use of recreational drugs about 8 years ago) and then BAM! He gave me the bad news. No surgery today because I didn't have someone responsible with me. I asked, "Like what? To hold my hand?"

"No," replies the sullen butcher. "So that they can drive you home."

"But can't they just come when I'm done?" I ask.

Apparently not. For general anesthesia - oh come on, you think I want to be awake when they slice open my gum??? Be serious - someone needs to wait around, reading magazines or whatever it is people do in doctors' waiting rooms, and then drive you home.

Thanks for telling me that yesterday when I called. So off I trotted, all my teeth in place and hungry as a skinny hippo. Now I need to wait about two weeks before I can get in to see him again. Inconvenience. That's what it is. An ineptitude, don't forget ineptitude. And for once, it's not mine.