This morning I started my day with a bang, and by bang I mean a root canal. Yes, you can only eat skittles with milk and call it cereal for so long before you realize that
it is delicious there are consequences for such actions.
Man labor, the equivalent to giving birth, that’s what it was. Poor me. For two hours I was strapped to a chair amidst needles, clamps, and other instruments of mass extraction. I was forced to sit still—my restless legs notwithstanding--while a masked man got elbow deep into my gaping mouth while discussing Dancing With the Stars with his assistant. If that wasn’t punishment enough for brushing my teeth with Hershey’s Syrup, there was the matter of forging the canal; drilling and poking, a little digging and then more drilling, Panama was built less time…
I may be exaggerating a tad, it really wasn’t that bad…and no where near child labor. After being set free with a drooping jaw, I took advantage of my day off work by doing some painting at my old house we're renting out. I even had a prospective renter stop by, where I slurred through the showing of the house, biting the inside of my cheek as I waved my hands towards the washer and dryer. I won’t hold my breath to hear back.
Afterwards I was off to pick up the little man early from day care, bringing him home where we mumbled and gurgled the same language. We danced, we sang, and we drooled; catching a quick nap before Mom came home and took care of us. Overall, it was not a bad day.