The Bullies Are Plotting Against Me

I must have done something to anger the gods recently, but I�m not sure what it could be. I�m a nice guy, really I am. Yes, I may have �beaten up� the neighbor�s children for playing a game called �Let�s Scream At The Top Of Our Lungs While Smacking Basketballs Against The Garage Door With Hockey Sticks And Shooting Fireworks From Our Noses� the very second I sat down to study� but I mean, really, was that so wrong of me?

I have been noticing for the past few weeks that my gums were bleeding much more than they needed to be. I don�t mind the occasional little tiny bit of blood, but this was like a horror movie every time I brushed my teeth. As is typical for me, I decided that it wasn�t worth much attention. My motto being, if I can walk to the hospital, then I�m not sick enough to need a doctor.

How wrong can one man be?

A few days later, the gods replaced the blood with excruciating pain, and I was forced to visit (insert daunting music here) THE DENTIST. I think he was younger than me. That�s the real horror of it all, the first time I met a doctor who graduated after I did. But he was a chipper fellow who informed me that my bottom wisdom tooth is coming in, and it�s infected. He�s been bullying the other teeth by pushing them and making them cry, but he�s a sneaky one, too. He�s still hiding out of sight, under the gums and behind some big nerve that, if severed, will render me unable to ever feel my lips again. So, THE DENTIST recommended that I suck it up and live with the pain until the bully decides to present himself, and then we�ll yank him out of there.

The real problem, however, is the second bully. The partner in crime. The wisdom tooth on my upper jaw has also waged war on the rest of my mouth. She�s come out full force, but she�s come in at a 45 degree angle, pointing towards my cheek. And she�s pointy and sharp and even meaner than her friend. She�s got one sharp pointy edge digging into the gums on my lower jaw every time I bite down, and another sharp pointy edge scraping my cheek unless I keep it puffed out like a happy little squirrel.

I wish I could say that was the end of my tale of horror, but there�s more. SP left the house on Sunday to go visit family, and I sat down to study. About ten minutes later, I had left my desk and was staring angrily out the window and glaring at the previously mentioned satan�s children who were taunting me, and the phone rang. Why, it was SP! How sweet, I thought, he called to say he missed me. Which I�m sure was true, but it turned out he was still at the garage, trying to change a flat tire on his car, and he couldn�t get the lug nuts off. I walked out to the garage in my bathrobe and fuzzy slippers, rolled up my terry cloth sleeves, and said, �Stand back, I�ll handle this,� while doing my best Superman impression, with hands on my hips. Then I shoved on the wrench with all my might, and sprained my back.

I�ve been laying on the couch for two days with a heating pad under my back and an ice pack on my face. But the worst is still yet to be told. I�ve been eating nothing but a bag of bite sized brownies I found in the kitchen. 200 calories a pop, and I�ve been eating them like popcorn. I can actually see my pudgy little stomach expanding by the minute. My once sexy, white, sleeveless, CK undershirt is now too tight and too small to cover my belly. It�s been peeking out and winking at me with it�s one hideous belly button eye. 30 pounds ago it was an out-tie, but now it�s an in-nie.

Pretty scary, huh?