Last night I had the most jarring, juicy, insulting teeth cleaning I've ever had. There was forehead splashing, to-the-chin-drooling and at one point my lip was run over by the tooth polisher thingy. I shudder to remember.
It was so bad that I had no choice but to go out for dinner immediately afterwards and drink a margarita bigger than my head.
It is entirely too cold outside for margaritas, but I made an exception. I wish that I could drink straight tequila, but a roommate in college ruined my previously beloved tequila shots forever by mixing a few with Jack Daniels one night. "Mexican-American Wars," I think they're called. Yes. I lost the battle AND the war that night, not to mention my appetite for tequila shots. Now I must sadly dilute the liquor of the gods.
Diluted or not, it sure does do the trick. Adding salt to the wound isn't always a bad idea after all. I was feeling no pain by the time we headed home. In fact, I couldn't even say "dentist."
Happy Friday!