“Good morning!”
I opened my eyes, expecting to see Bread sitting on my chest, staring at me with an evil smile of impending doom, and instead saw nothing more threatening than the ceiling of my hotel room. Groggily, I looked around the room and, when I was certain that Bread was nowhere in sight, I attempted to smile.
And fell out of bed clutching my mouth in pain.
As I lay there on the industrially carpeted floor amongst all of the ancient food, dirt and other, less savory stains, I began ruminating about a great many things that had quite suddenly become very important to me. Things like life, death, the universe and whether the slight discoloration on the carpet next to my watering left eye was caused by someone’s spilled soda or sexual excrement. But what was most important to me at that moment, what was absolutely crucial to my very survival, was focusing every fiber of my being to the task of not moving my mouth.
“I said, ‘Good morning’!”
As I was now wide awake, I knew that the voice speaking to me with such a chipper and perky attitude could not possibly be Bread. Using deductive reasoning, sonar triangulation and a handy abacus that was, oddly enough, taped to the underside of the bed for just such an emergency, I came to the conclusion that whoever was speaking was doing so from inside my own mouth. I decided to attempt communication with the invader.
“Mmm?”
Even so small a movement of my mouth nearly caused me to black out.
“Hi there! My name’s Hank. Hank Cankersore. And I’ll be your relentless, stinging, shooting pain for the next several days. Isn’t that swell?”
“Mmmm? MMRRRGGGHHHH!”
To illustrate just how ‘swell’ he thought this announcement was, Hank had decided to rub up against one of my teeth, which suddenly felt about as smooth as crushed glass and sandpaper would on a hemorrhoid.
“Now, now. There’s no need to convulse with joy like that! I know you’re as thrilled and excited to have me as I am to be here, but let’s not forget that I’m going to be with you for quite a while, so there’s no need to cry. So you just get up off that floor and march into that bathroom, Mister. We’ve got some teeth to brush!”
As I slowly lifted myself off the floor and made my way to the bathroom, I realized that my entire day was shot to hell. I was supposed to be meeting with potential clients all day, but with my ability to charm them hampered by my complete inability to so much as breathe without gasping in pain and sucking air through my tightly clenched teeth, I figured I might as well suck on the barrel of a Smith & Wesson and call it a day.
Unfortunately, I had no gun.
Somehow, and I don’t know how, I made it through all the meetings and not one of the people I met with had any idea that the tears in my eyes were caused by anything other than allergies. Hank did keep me on my toes though, and there were one or two times that I nearly screamed as he got stuck to a tooth, or swelled up and snuck in between my teeth just as I was trying to bite down on a piece of food. But all in all, I kept my pain hidden from, and my smile on for, the clients.
Now that I’m home though, all I can say is, “Thank god for Anbesol.”
