I spent the early morning having my upper left molars beaten to dust by my dentist as he attempted to ascertain just where my intense tooth pain was emanating from. Seriously, he beat my teeth with a tiny mallet. I kept telling him that, yes, it hurts there, but only from the beating he was bestowing, not from chewing pain I normally experience. Of course, since it only happens when I eat, he couldn't replicate the pain and I was told there was nothing he could do and sometimes the pain just goes away on its own. My pain was not improved by the dental hygienist, Nurse Mengele, who always spends the entire appointment cleaning my teeth and complaining about how everything in the world sucks. Teenagers are spoiled, that song on the radio makes her want to scream, that guy on The Bachelor is selling out his kid (seriously, this is a problem for her?), movies are overly expensive and dumb. She never, ever, ever says anything positive and she complains the entire time she's jabbing your gums with a walnut pick and flossing your teeth as if she's strangling her secretly hated boss. No wonder I practically need to be sedated whenever I visit the dentist.
After a long day, I found myself with subtle tooth pain and a need to finish painting my kitchen a violent peony red (hence the drop cloth in the photo above). The only thing that could get me through it? Prosecco, Tylenol and Braunschweiger. Yes, I am a true lady, and fairly European judging by my preference for delicate Italian wine and the finest German meats. Whatever it takes, people, whatever it takes.