Ten Ways to Tell if You’re Overdoing Thanksgiving

Hello Dear Readers!  I love Thanksgiving!  It’s one of my favorite holidays.  Every year I cook for my family and every year I look forward to it with great pleasure.  Maybe a little too much pleasure.  That’s why I’ve come up with this list of warning signs on how to tell if you are going to overdo Thanksgiving.

How to Tell if You’re Going to Overdo Thanksgiving
Woman looking pensive with leaves on her head

You’ve replaced the phrase “I love you” with the phrase “Olive you”.

You just got back from Potato Mashing Immersion Camp.

You’ve instructed your surgeon to break ground on that new stomach addition.

Architect looking at plans

“So the way I see it, we can knock out a wall between the belly and the button, and we should have room for an entire bowl of mashed potatoes and gravy.

In preparation for the big feast, you’ve managed to diet down to a size bite.

Even if you were to carry out pi to a million decimals, all forms of pi will be polished off by Friday.

“Of course I didn’t eat all the pumpkin pie! I ‘m an apple guy.”

You’ve taken to sleeping on a pillow of mini marshmallows.

Thanks to you and your voluminous Yam Stockpile the earth will be taking 6 days longer to orbit the sun.

Earth orbiting sun

“Gosh this week is really dragging by. What day is it?”

You made an appointment with your dentist to get your teeth sharpened.

Your new gravy boat sleeps six.

“Move over!”
“No you!”

Your husband, Tom, is slightly worried about you because his name is Bill.

You’ve been preheating your oven since the 4th of July.

You refuse to read, watch or listen to  anything that isn’t about Jello.

“Honey! Come quick! Look!  There’s Bigfoot!”
“Is he in the form of a Jello mold?”
“Is he carrying Jello?”
“Then I’m not going to look.”

And the most obvious way to tell if you’re going to overdo Thanksgiving:

Your appendix has been officially called back into active duty for the stomach reserves.

“Ten Hut!”


Until next time . . . Olive you

Road Tripping with My Brain, Peanuts

Linda Vernon Humor, humorous commentary about granny taking a road trip

Dear Readers Welcome! I am happy to report I actually made it home safely from my road trip on the freeways of this great state of California, the longest state in our great  nation, mind you, — where I spent four wonderful days visiting my daughter Jackie, her husband, Tyler, and my new grandson, Henry.

Peanuts gets worried

Of course, driving there,  Dear Readers,  took a tad bit longer than it should have due to the fact that I had to go 45 minutes at 40 mph before I could get my nerve up to pass a semi that seemed to my brain, Peanuts, anyway that it was driving recklessly.

The Menace of Rest Stop Pigs

Of course,  my brain, Peanuts, the crazy story maker upper,  had the truck driver  pegged as a legally-blind, drunken serial killer/truck driver on crack who was texting his friend waiting at the rest stop up ahead  to see if there were any Little Old Lady Granny-Types, such as myself,  that he could  murder and chop up into a million little pieces and feed to the pigs.

I know it’s a preposterous thought, Dear Readers, I have to laugh actually, because I’ve never seen any  pigs at rest stops.

Rest stop?  Or Treasure Map to Murder?

Rest Stop? Or Treasure Map to Murder?

Restrooms, Restrooms Everywhere and Not a One to Use

Still, I didn’t stop even though I needed to use the restroom. I decided, instead,  to stop somewhere in  King City which the sign said was only 27 miles away.

It was at that point I entered the Twilight zone where the forward motion of my car was just an illusion wherein an evil force was pulling the road underneath me like a treadmill and  causing me to quit making any forward progress.  Here’s what the road signs kept saying:

27  miles to  King City 

45 minutes later:

11 miles to king City

40 minutes later:

3 miles to King City

a half an hour later:

You just passed King City

Carl Jr. Saves Me From Kidnapping Gypsies

I’m happy to report, however,  that I finally found an easy exit with a Carl Jr’s to stop at.   I pulled in to park  and just then a white van pulled up next to me, the doors flew open and lo and behold!

It was  chalk-full  of  gypsies!

Peanuts assumed this because the women were wearing long black dresses with gold bric-a-brac sewn to them accessorized by lots of dangling gold jewelry.

And they were clearly speaking a language that sounded very much like not English!

My Last Meal Pro-active-ness

As I was walking into Carl Jr., the gypsy driving the van and his cohort got out and stood next to my car.  I heard them chatting about something and even though  I couldn’t understand what they were saying,  Peanuts thought whatever it was had a definite “untoward” ring to it.

Where you goin' Little Old Lady Granny-Type?   "ttthhhrrrrrinnnngggg"

Where you goin’ Little Old Lady Granny-Type, such as yourself?  . . .Thwannngggg . . . 

My brain, Peanuts, started making up a story about how they were a roving band of gypsies, tramps and thieves — as the lyrics to the Cher’s song,  Gypsies, Tramps and Thievess is the only thing Peanuts  knows about gypsies.

I would say all the gypsies looked just like this only they really didn't.

World Renowned Gypsy Expert

Peanuts started thinking that maybe the Gypsies were in cahoots with the crack truck driver/serial killer, and that they were out looking for Little Old Lady Granny-Types , such as myself, and well . . . . well, never mind about the “well.”

The Final Gulp

So when I got into Carl Jr.s and looked back to see them still standing by my car — even though I wasn’t the least bit hungry — I went ahead and ordered the  Orange Cream Hand-Scooped  Milkshake because I thought it would be a fitting last meal.

If one were forced to eat  one’s last meal at Carl Jr., that is.

Orange Cream Carl Jr. Hand Scooped Milkshake

Good, but not that good.

The One-Piece Arrival

Anyway, Dear Readers,  you’ll be happy to know that  in the end I made it home safely.

And I must say!  I’ve got a new lease on life!    After all, it’s not everyday, one is spared from death by not being kidnapped by Gypsies and cut up into a million little  pieces by a legally-blind, drunken serial killer/truck driver on crack and fed to rest stop pigs!

Proving once again, Dear Readers,  that it truly is the little things that make life worth living.

Until next time . . . I love you

My Brain Peanuts Red Alert!!

My Brain, Peanuts, Red Alert!!!

Warning! Warning! Warning!

Errrrr! Errrrr! Errrrr!

Dear Readers, This is a 7-Points Bulletin!

If you are traveling in state of  California on freeway 101 today, anywhere between San Francisco and Los Angeles going north or south, east or west BEWARE!

Traffic may be unusually slow, possibly backed up for hours due to a Little Old Lady Granny Driver operating under the often misguided direction of her brain, Peanuts, who is going on a road trip to visit her daughter, Jackie’s family and her new grandson, Henry!

Jackie and Henry

Jackie and Henry


Be on the look out for and steer clear of the following:


Any woman who looks old enough to receive AARP  and pre-paid cremation opportunities in her  junk mail —  and who is  traveling south (God willing, but possibly north if her brain, Peanuts,  freaks and takes the wrong exit) in a little blue car with a bumper sticker that says:  What Happens at Grandmas, Stays at Grandmas.


Should you be unlucky enough to  come up behind Granny, tailgate at your own risk — as she will turn on her windshield cleaner spray (she’s not as nice as she looks) and pretend for all the world like she is simply getting the bugs off her windshield, but in reality is passively aggressively getting your windshield wet on purpose in an attempt to punish you for not driving as safely as she thinks you should.


Should she suddenly slam on her brakes in the middle of the freeway, do not be alarmed, there is nothing wrong with granny’s car, it will simply mean she was listening to a CD of Herb Albert and the Tijuana brass and her brain, Peanuts, mistook one of trumpet solos for the horn of an alarmed motorist.


Granny will no doubt be traveling in the slow lane, wedged between two trucks — either because she is too afraid to change lanes or because she is pretending she is in a convoy again. Probably both.


If you should see this woman driving around the mean streets of some drug n’ thug neighborhood in any town between San Francisco and Los Angeles, it will not mean that Granny is trying to “score” some illegal substances.  It will simply mean that, once again, her brain, Peanuts, picked the worst possible exit to try to find a restroom.


Four or five hours into the trip you may see granny pulled over to the side of the road being issued a speeding ticket. This will mean her brain, Peanuts, finally became so desensitized and bored with driving on the freeway that her brain, Peanuts, only noticed the number 88 on her speedometer when she saw the flashing red light tailgating her.


Let’s just hope and pray her brain, Peanuts, had enough sense not to turn on the windshield cleaner spray!

Ny Brain Peanuts

Beware of my brain, Peanuts, behind the wheel!

Until next time . . . I love you

33-Word Trifecta Writing Challenge: Shades of Clayton

Welcome Dear Readers!  This weekend’s 33-word Trifecta Writing Challenge is as follows:  Give us a thirty-three word piece that has a color in it. Use the color to describe anything you like, or use anything you like to describe your color, but keep it creative and keep it short. 

I chose this colorful picture of my grandson, Clayton, to write about today.


Shades of Clayton

Propeller’s blue, steering’s green

With shades of Mickey in-between

Here’s a fellow, who likes yellow

A mellow little yellow fellow

But his pants this poem will sabotage

Cause there ain’t no color camouflage

When Push Comes to Shove It’s Time for a Cesarean

My New Grandson, Henry William Benson!


Hello Dear Readers!  Well as you can see there’s been some excitement around here.  My new little grandson Henry William began his new life out in the real world on Saturday night after a long, leisurely road trip through BC (Birth Canal).

Henry Took the Scenic Route

 On his way through BC, Henry chose to dilly dally, making frequent stops along the way for snacks and pictures, then taking a nap or two — completely oblivious to the fact that there was a room of people anxiously awaiting his arrival.  Finally at long last, somebody just went and got the scissors and showed Henry the ol’ Cesarean Shortcut.

And, frankly, I was a little surprised when Henry wasn’t born with a miniature camera around his neck, clutching a tiny road map in his fingers and wearing a teeny tourist t-shirt that said something like “I just came through the birth canal and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.”

Having a Baby Can Take a Lot Out of You

My daughter, Jackie, was a trooper through the entire 23 hours of back labor, front labor and sideways labor.  But not to worry.  She had a mid-wife who was there to help her!

The mid-wife, whose name was . . . well, let’s just call her  . . . oh I don’t know . . . I’m just picking a name at random here — let’s just call her Salisbury Steak.

Salisbury Steak, just for the record, Dear Readers, was about 40 years old and in those 40 years, had somehow managed to learn every bit of information a person could possibly learn with the possible exception of Albert Einstein and even he didn’t know as much about birthin’ babies as Salisbury Steak!

Add to that the fact that Salisbury Steak has managed to develop an esteem for herself that is unrivaled, and you’ve got yourself one heck of a midwife!  (And don’t just go by me, I’m sure Salisbury Steak will back me up on that.)

To prove my point, here’s a conversation Salisbury Steak and I had after Jackie had been in labor for 22 hours and her blood pressure had dropped to 60 over 30.

Me:  This isn’t going well, I’m concerned.

Salisbury Steak:  Oh, is that your medical opinion?

Me:  She’s dizzy and her blood pressure is extremely low, and she’s been in labor for 22 hours she’s been pushing for almost 3 hours and the baby isn’t any farther down than he was three hours ago!

Salisbury Steak:  First of all, 60 over 30 is not low!  She just needs to drink some apple juice, besides the baby is moving down now.

Me:  But isn’t this his foot way up here?

Salisbury Steak:  What?  No.  Let me feel it.  No, that’s just a fibroid tumor!

Me:  But she shouldn’t be drinking apple juice!  At this point, she shouldn’t be drinking anything!

Salisbury steak:  Oh really is that your medical opinion? (Salisbury Steak didn’t add, “What do you know about it old lady, you probably don’t even know how to work your smart phone like it do!” — but I could tell she wanted to.)

Me:  I’m concerned, we need to do something!

Salisbury Steak:  Oh really?  Is that you’re medical opinion?

Do you see how well Salisbury Steak handled the situation?  Her assessment that Jackie’s blood pressure of 60/30 was simply a result of Jackie’s mother being overly concerned and micro-managing Salisbury Steak’s sweet mid-wifing skills — was nothing short of brilliance.

And furthermore, it was becoming quite obvious that I was making Salisbury Steak’s mid-wifing experience a bummer and that I needed to please shut up!

Well in the end, Dear Reader, I am extremely relieved to report that Salisbury Steak finally decided that in Salisbury Steak’s medical opinion, Jackie did, indeed,  require a C-section a decision that could have been made hours earlier, but that would have required Salisbury Steak to hang up from chatting on the phone.  (She’s quite a popular one, that Salisbury Steak!  But, then, who doesn’t like Salisbury Steak?)

Anyway, by the grace of God, our sweet little Henry finally made his debut into this world thanks to the doctor who performed the cesarean section –and both mother and baby are safe and sound!

Before Salisbury Steak left she gave me a great big hug and said good-bye.

And I, too, bid farewell to Salisbury Steak.

“Good bye Salisbury Steak!” I said. “You big effing idiot!”

* * *

Linda vernon's drawing of a midwife, Linda Vernon Humor

Midwife Extraordinaire, Salisbury Steak

Life Is Very Beautiful

Hello Dear Readers.  I am happy to announce something wonderful.  My daughter, Nikki, and her husband, Matt, welcomed their first daughter, Lily Lucille, to her new life on January 15th  in the wee hours of the morning.

Lily Lucille Kaiser

Lily Lucille and Nikki Kaiser

Lily Lucille and  Nikki

Life is very beautiful . . .

Until next time . . . I love you all

More AARP or Old People Burping

Well, I’m happy to report, Dear Reader, that I have just received an important dispatch from my friends (practically my blood brothers, really) at AARP!  Guess what?  AARP thinks I’m “fully eligible” for their membership.

Which, of course, is their thinly veiled way of saying I’m  old,– very, very old . . . and now it’s official!

And on top of that, if I give $16 to AARP, they will give me these benefits that aren’t available anywhere else:

Gee, I’m so overcome with emotion, I’m getting tear stains all over my Hoveround . . .

Because for 16 dollars AARP is giving me:

AARP, The Magazine!  Which is great and all –but if they aren’t including the loaded gun which would have to be held to my head in order to get me to read itAARP, The Magazine! isn’t much good to me now, is it?

Discounts that save me money!  Uh, I’m sorry AARP, but I kind of prefer discounts that DON’T save me money.  Call it crazy.  Call it wacky. Call it maybe my Depends are too tight.  I don’t know.  I guess I just feel like being cantankerous because I’m so very, very old . . . oops . . . I mean so I’m so very, very “fully eligible”.

Strengthening Social Security, protecting Medicare . . .  including fighting age discrimination for all!  Hey listen, AARP, you’re the one calling old people names like “fully eligible.”   So here’s a little suggestion.  Why don’t you start fighting age discrimination by socking yourself in the eye!

Access to health insurance . . . access huh?  What kind of access?  Handicap access?  Hoverround access?  Oh maybe AARP means they’re going to give me the idea (for $16) to access the internet so I can find myself some health insurance.

And just in case all these AARP Benefits don’t make me want to reach my arthritic hand into my sock and pull out $16, they are throwing in this  FREE GIFT (that only costs $16.)!


As you can see, AARP knows us geezer people don’t like to stumble out to our cars and head down the wrong side of the road without plenty of liquids because us “fully eligible-sters” often get dehydrated causing us to do senile things like drive through plate-glass windows and buying $16 worth of NOTHING from AARP.

All I can say is Aaarrrrppppp!  Has anybody seen the Pepto Bismal?

Until next time . . . I love you

Adventures in Grandma Land or Old Fogey Finds Car!

Old People shopping

Betty and Barney Flurp just seconds before discovering that instead of purchasing a cart full of groceries, they had inadvertently kidnapped a baby.

If you want to find out where all old people go in my neighborhood, (and why wouldn’t you?) look no farther than Nob Hill Grocery Store. (Otherwise known as Nob Over the Hill Grocery Store).

I shop there because they carry all the geezer stuff we aging boomers have to have to ward off heart disease, type-2 diabetes, osteoporosis, lactose intolerance, high cholesterol, warts and gangrene.

Judging from the age of the shopping crowd at Nob Hill, every day is senior discount day.

This means there’s a lot of oblivion happening in the isles which takes the form of obstruction.

Either there’s a motorized cart blocking the aisle you want to go down or an aging big-butt boomer (me) blocking the cold case you want to reach in.

Which is perfectly fine as long as you don’t have too much to grab and you don’t have to be anywhere, in particular, until next summer.

Besides, I don’t want to go shopping for no-sugar-added chocolate chip mint ice cream all over town when I’m sure Nob Hill will have it.  Which means I find myself paying practically twice  as much for ordinary foodstuffs like Cheerios or pop. (In case you’re not that old, pop is an old-fashioned word for sarsaparilla.)

So I can never get in and out of Nob Hill for under $100 — even if I’m just dashing  in to pick up a carton of  unsweetened, vanilla-flavored, almond milk.

Checking out is pleasant enough —  if not a teeny condescending.

The checkers tend to speak a little too loud, and take the items out of the cart for you. (But I suspect only to avoid having to call 911 should some unfortunate boomer’s back suddenly seize up).

Also, the checkers tend to give you a lot of instructions on which buttons to push when sliding your card.  “Push the green button now.”  “Do you see the green button?” “Push the green button.”  “Can you say green?”

Yesterday, when the Bagger and I were trying to find my car in the parking lot, he suggested I do what all their other slightly-senile customers do  – click my car alarm.

I wanted to say,  “Hey buster! I’m that old yet!” but didn’t because apparently I’m too old to know how to turn on my car alarm using my key thingy.

In fact, I don’t even know if I have a car alarm.  I didn’t tell him that though.  I do have my pride.

Until Next time . . . I love you

The “First Haircut” Incident

photo of Grandson getting a haircut

No we are not strapping him into the electric chair, he's getting his first haircut!

First the Good News!

My grandson, Mr. Clayton D. Kaiser, got his first haircut yesterday and everything  came off just as it was supposed to except for one minor incident hardly worth mentioning.  But more about that later.

The Hair Cut 

It only took three of us to hold him down (he being the ticklish type) but we are happy to report that not only does his haircut look fabulous, he also managed to retain both ears in the process — and, except for one slight nick in the back, looks downright dapper!

Even though you can't see them in this picture, his ears are still there . . . I think.

Unfortunately, there was one teensy-weensy complication during the course of “The Haircut” 

It was an incident involving a little dog who happens to belong to the Kaiser Family. A little dog who seems lovable enough outwardly, but who, it turns out,  has the heart and soul of a Radical!

Voted Most Adorable Terrorist Alive!

Apparently, Trudy — left to ponder the meaning of life while all alone in a big back yard — took it upon herself to finally show some initiative and  dig her way to freedom whereupon she began  “terrorizing the neighborhood.” 

That’s the way the landlady described it anyway in an emergency phone call during “the Haircut.”

The landlady wanted us to return to home base immediately and “DO SOMETHING!”

Talk about a Captain Kirk Decision-Making Moment!

A dilemma of epic proportions had presented itself:

Finish the haircut? Or stop mid-cut and rush home to save the neighbors?

In the end, we opted to continue with the haircut — but implored the hairstylist, Christine, to utilize the photon-torpedo scissors and go at it at warp speed!

Take us Home Scotty!

When we returned home, Trudy was back in her proper area, all the neighbors had returned to their living quarters and the Landlady, who lives across the way,  was nowhere to be found.

And although there were no signs of violence or blood or anything like that, god only knows the toll that Trudy inflicted on the psyche of the entire neighborhood.

But hey!  Mr. Clayton D. Kaiser’s hair looks GREAT, so who cares!

Until next time . . . I love you

Get your grandbaby a onesie that says:  “Some things money can’t buy, for every thing else. . . Grandma”    Get it here:
There are some things money can't buy, for everything else . . . grandma!

Design by Buzatron

The Toddler Tabloids

ATTENTION GRANDMAS!  New T-Shirt Now Available:
“There are some things money can’t buy, for everything else . . . Grandma”


Design by Buzatron!

Available at: Buzatron.onlineshirtstores.com

Something Happened to toddlers while my back was turned!

My daughter, Nikki, has been sick and it’s not easy being sick when you have a 20-month toddler wobbling around the house.  So it was grandma to the rescue (that’s me).

The applesauce of Grandma’s eye

Now here’s a little piece of info for you new grandmas out there.  Toddlers aren’t like they used to be.  Or at least not like you remembered them to be.

My toddlers weren’t like the toddlers of today!

It seems to me, my toddlers woke up with a big smile.  I’d take them out of their cribs and, after changing their own diapers, they would toddle happily to the breakfast table where upon they would eat their entire breakfast consisting of something marvelously healthy, then play quietly with their toys, watch a little Bert and Ernie before taking a nap for the rest of the day.

Hey!  What happened to the bliss?

Ok, I admit there’s a little fuzziness in my memory here and there, but basically I remember the Toddler Days were filled with love and tranquility and happiness and harmony bathed in a pink cloud of light with the Sesame Street theme song playing sweetly in the background.

I’m sure I’m remembering it right, maybe

But having taken care of my 20-month-old grandson, Clayton, all day for a couple of days now, I have been forced to re-evaluate that perhaps I was remembering things a tad differently than how they actually are when it comes to the care and feeding this tiny creature known as the Toddler.

“Careful! He’s spring-loaded!”

You see, Toddlers are a double-edged plastic knife.  A dichotomy if you will. They are so completely and utterly, heart-meltingly adorable that you can hardly takes your eyes off them. While at the same time they are so creatively attuned to getting into dangerous situations that you can hardly take your eyes off them.

This makes for an enormous amount of intense eyeball time which can sometimes lead to crossness.

these are some of the things I’d forgotten about toddlers:

It’s impossible to get a toddler to:

Hold still long enough to eat their breakfast, lunch or dinner.  Hold still long enough to change their diapers. Hold still long enough to put on their coat, shoes, comb their hair, brush their teeth, wipe their faces, wipe their hands, put on their shoes, take off their shoes, change them into a dry shirt, change them into dry pants, change them out of their wet shirt into a dry shirt and back out of a wet shirt and back into a dry shirt. Phew!

I’d also forgotten that toddlers’ TV viewing habits tend to be repetitious:

It’s Barney, Barney, Barney followed by Barney and then Elmo, then Elmo, then Elmo, then Elmo then back to Barney, Barney, Barney to be repeated in this order until Toddler tires of activity or grandma starts to babble more than toddler in which case an intervention could possibly be in order.

And when it comes to reading material, Toddlers can be fickle

Just when you’re getting used to reading “I Can Help” 14 times in rapid succession as they listen enraptured, thumb-in-mouth;- they suddenly decide they don’t want you to ever read “I Can Help” again, and it will be “What Do Babies Need?” 14 times in rapid succession or it will be NOTHING AT ALL!

I’d also forgotten toddlers’ are so very gifted when it comes to rapid emotional changes:

For instance, they can hurl themselves to the floor face down and cry bitterly into the shag carpet when corrected for wanting to play with electricity; but can  just as quickly make the tears running down their cheeks screech to a stop,  reverse direction, and roll right back up into their adorable little eyeballs stat! when confronted with a cookie.

Yeah, my pants are full of poo — Aren’t everyone’s?

They can also get quite testy when you try to get them to eat the rest of their applesauce, while simultaneously being cool “just hanging out” with a pant-load of poo.


Always Take into account the Toothpaste Factor

And finally, I’d forgotten that toddlers are like toothpaste.  Once you take them out of the container they are in, you can never get them to go back in again.

So a reminder to new grandmas everywhere. Remember that if you let them out of the shopping cart, the high chair or the car seat to run around on their own, there’s no going back, EVER!

You will be completely screwed until they reach the age of six.

Until next time . . . I love you

My Teeth Are Getting More Crooked by the Hour

Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Braces

When I was ten, the family dentist and my parents made a secret plan to make my teeth straight. It didn’t involve braces. Instead, it involved pulling out five of my permanent teeth.

When Teeth Fly

I remember several visits to the dentist wherein he grabbed a tooth with his pliers and pulled with all his might until my tooth would finally be uprooted and go flying across the room and hit the wall.

He seemed to think this was a perfectly normal occurrence (which I’m sure in his case it was) and, since I didn’t have anything to compare it to — I thought so too. That is until I had my wisdom teeth removed years later and guess what? Nothing went flying anywhere.

Look Ma! No Braces!

Anyway, getting five of my permanent teeth extracted did the trick. My teeth were tolerably straight for a good portion of my life.

The Minute My Mouth is Closed

Then suddenly one morning, one of my front teeth began to stick out farther than the rest. At first, it was hardly noticeable. That’s because this rebel tooth did all its traveling when I wasn’t looking.

If I were to smile into a mirror at any given moment, this tooth would freeze and stay in that exact position until I closed my mouth and then it would continue on it’s mission which, obviously, was to become a Hillbilly Tooth.

The Miraculous Transformation

Over the years, slowly but surely this hillbilly tooth wannabe has made a miraculous migration from sitting straight-in-a-row with all the other front teeth — content to be an all-around team player — to Class Clown of the Mouth. So that today, this tooth has positioned itself in such a way as to stick out way beyond all the others making it appear as if I just have the one.

Surgery for the Problem Child

A couple of years ago I decided I would do something about my problem child tooth. I looked into getting cosmetic dental surgery. The dentist made a mould of my mouth, and we went into the conference room to discuss what could be done.

The Dentist Who Cared Too Much (and had absolutely no sense of humor)

It didn’t help any that the dentist had tears in his eyes when he set the mould of my wayward teeth in front of me. This is the consultation that followed and to quote Dave Barry, I am not making this up.

To lighten up the mood, I remarked, “Those are my teeth? Gee, they’re pretty crooked. In fact, I’ve seen straighter teeth on the 20,000-year-old skulls they’ve excavated on the Discovery Channel.”

To which the dentist replied solemnly, “I know.”

“Well is there anything you can do about it?”

“Not really . . . unless you want to get braces.”

“Braces! But I’m 55 years old!” (although I was wearing my hair in a ponytail that day so maybe he thought I was younger . . . emotionally anyway.)

“There are a lot of OLD PEOPLE LIKE YOU who get braces,” he assured me. “In fact, I had a patient in here the other day who just got his braces off and his teeth looked great!”

“How old was he?”


Paying for Invisiline Braces with Invisible Money

So I went to an orthodontist. He informed me that I can get Invisiline braces, (the removable, see-through kind) for somewhere between $5,000 to $7000 dollars.

Hmmm. . After Giving the Matter a Lot of Thought . . .

I’ve decided to wait because who knows? Maybe my hillbilly tooth will come into fashion one of these days. And if that doesn’t happen?

There’s always mouth modeling for the Discovery Channel.

Until next time, I love you . . .