Funny. He Doesn’t Look Any Less Smart.

So, in a fitting capper to the end of his year, Zippy the College Boy had to go to the oral surgeon and get all four of his wisdom teeth extracted.

Well do I remember my own time in the oral surgeon’s chair, my veins slowly filling with general anesthetic and passing into the darkness, only to wake the next hour or so, with gauze stuffed into the back of my mouth and a curious numbness all over my face.

Zippy the College Boy has it better in one respect at least. The aftercare is much better for people who get their wisdom teeth yanked these days. Instead of having to sit in the car while my mom drove me to the pharmacy to get the underpowered pain abatement meds, we filled Zippy the College Boy’s prescription the day before. Plus, he came home with an elastic pouch that is designed to be strapped over his head and around his jaw, so the freezy packs can be put right up close to his aching bits.

While I’m certain the scene when I was recently wisdom-tooth-less was much funnier with me dripping cold water that used to be ice all onto the bed, I think I would have preferred the freezy pack route that Zippy the College Boy took.

It was funny, though.

When I was called back to the recovery room, he was sprawled in his chair, his head off to one side gazing blankly at his futurephone. It seems he’d been trying to post to Facebook and send a text. Oddly, most of those attempts consisted of random strings of unconnected letters.

Then, when the nurse and I walked him to my car, we tried to get him to bend at the waist so we could sit him down, but he wouldn’t. His head almost hit the top of the door, until he flopped it back on his neck and slid inside, almost whacking his jaw onto the doorframe. As he did so, he shouted, “Limbo! How low can you go?”

And then he giggled.

A lot.

Yeah, good drugs.

Still, some things never changed. The one thing he wanted to eat that he could eat, was a milkshake. Any excuse to live on milkshakes for a while is a good excuse.

If you’ll excuse me, though, he’s ringing that darn bell again. I think his pillow needs fluffing.

Either that or he’s asking to be smothered with the pillow because he’s sorry he keeps ringing that bell. Again and again. I think I’ll go see which he gets wants.

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