The tooth stays.

Everyone has a calling in life.

Some people want to be builders. Others want to be teachers, or lawyers, or gourmet chefs. Moms and Dads, Rabbi’s, Priests, and Nuns. Hairdressers, actors, web designers and radio DJs.

The more daring among us may claim to be painters, sculptors, writers or musicians.

I can understand all of these callings.

I don’t understand those who are called to Dentists.

Describe what a dentist does and it sounds like this:

Scrape plaque, tartar and whatever other kind of build up from the surface of peoples teeth.

Use my sharp metal poker to measure the depth of a humans gums. Fondle a tongue to check for mouth cancer.

Polish teeth with gritty goo and whirring rubber thing.

These are the more pleasant things a Dentist can do.

Friday, a tooth on the bottom right hand side of my mouth hurt a little. I thought it was caused by one too many sour patch kids and I vowed to take a week off.

Saturday morning, the tooth hurt a little more and included the area around the tooth and heading up my jaw line. I took some Advil, used a little Ambesol. Achy, but bearable.

Saturday night, no more pain thanks to Vodka.

Sunday morning, woke up in tears. The Vodka had worn off, and the entire right side of my face was throbbing. Advil, Excedrin, Ambesol and a bag of frozen peas placed on my face managed to dull the pain ever so slightly. I slept Sunday night very peacefully, on the frozen bag of peas (which Vedder conveniently gnawed open at some point in the night, apparently wanting a snack) after drinking half a bottle of Nyquil.

Monday at eight am I called the Dentist. I was being fit in at 10:40.

The pain has now been unbearable for more than 24 hours.

First thing Dr. Paininflictor says to me: So, do you want to keep this tooth?

Well, Dr. Paininflictor, this tooth has been hurting for three days, the last one being so horrible I considered pulling it out myself. Then I reconsidered.

See, I’m a single, thirty-year-old college student with bills up to my eyeballs who enjoys cheesy eighties music, Stephen King books, and playing scrabble. I have a passion for writing, like people who can talk about nothing for hours, and sometimes I crave Buffalo wings. I wear a pink snuggie, and I let my dog sleep on the pillows next to me.

That’s more than enough to keep me single for the rest of my life.

Let’s not add a gaping hole in my smile.