I posted the photo on Instagram (I know, I know, causing even more legions out there to shake their heads about Social Media where superficial people snap photos of what they're eating and tell the world. My Bad), and settled in to munch and read, read and munch.
In fact, I got right to the bottom of the bowl, just a few unpopped kernels left. Swirling my tongue around my mouth, as you do post-popcorn, to shift some of that kernel coating, move those fibrous bits out from between my teeth. . . and my tongue met something sharp. Something it didn't recognize. Could it just be a big piece of kernel, wedged weirdly? But then why concave? Realization came reluctantly, followed quickly by horror, and I noted, at the bottom of the bowl, a small piece of something non-popcorn-y. Yep. Popcorn is, apparently, dangerous to your teeth.
Now, you might remember about me and dentists. I was very happy with my last dentist -- of whom I was a patient for well over 25 years and to whom I took my four as they grew. But moving pushed me into a different dentist's chair last year, and that was a sad story which you can read here.
I reconciled myself, after that tearful visit, to the new dentist, the new office, and I told myself eventually I might feel nearly as comfortable as I had with my previous dental-care team. But when I phoned just before 5 yesterday, no one answered the phone, and after many, many -- many! -- rings, the voicemail message advised that they were closed, but would be open again on Thursday. A shock to the system for this privileged woman who'd always been fit in, somehow, for a dental emergency.
Luckily, my husband also has a dentist in the city (for the last seven years of his career, before retiring seven years ago, Pater worked in the city all week, came back to the island on weekends -- he fit annual check-ups and cleanings into lunchtime or early-morning appointments) -- I hadn't chosen that office last year because that dentist was almost retired, only practising one day a week, but recently, a young dentist has joined that practice and Pater's been impressed. Also luckily, I managed to get Pater on his cell late yesterday afternoon, he phoned that dental office -- still open, Whew! -- and they had just had an afternoon cancellation for today.
So . . . . I'll be crossing my fingers until then, and trying to feel grateful that good dental care is available and that, while it will jostle the budget, we can manage it. Trying to think, "Well, isn't this a great opportunity to check out that new dentist." Mostly, mostly praying it's not going to require a root canal (honestly? I've lost track of which teeth still have nerves left, and for all I know this could be an already dead tooth whose crown needs repair (yep, that's my secret, probably very unrealistic hope). Really, really hoping this story doesn't end with extraction, because I've been there . . .
Plus one small complication: We've a flight scheduled for Friday morning -- it's a short trip, just an extended weekend, but it's our very first Warmth in MidWinter trip ever. Five of my siblings are staying, with their spouses, in the same hotel -- one of those great midcentury places with all units facing onto the pool. We're planning a hike or two, maybe some biking, I've booked an architectural tour, dug out my swimsuits and packed my Birkenstocks. So timing is all.
Wish me luck?