I got crowned today.
Believe me, it was not my idea. In fact, I have been putting off getting my aged back teeth crowned for eight years.
Finally, my dentist said:
“Well, you’ve lost a filling and that old tooth is about half filling and we can’t replace it because it would be a Super Fund site. All that Mercury. You need a new tooth.”
Prior to my current dentist, my previous dentist wanted to crown all my teeth, twice. Every year. I didn’t buy it, literally.
But, with bits dropping out it was time to bite the bullet, fix the bite and move on down the road to Crownsville.
To be honest, I was worried about two things. First, the ripping out, shaping, grinding, drilling and chipping away at my very own, home-grown tooth. And, second, I was worried about the “fit” because I have all these crowned cow-orkers who complain around the coffee pot about their bad-fitting crowns.
Next to bad soccer referees, bad fitting crowns is the Number Two topic of conversation at work.
To cut a long story short, the crowning experience wasn’t that bad. My dentist apparently paid attention in class, unlike yours truly, and did a fantastic job of removing the old tooth and replacing it with a new tooth.
Feels good as new.
My dentist is an artist. He fixed something that was going to cause me some pain and I’m good to go for years.
So I said, Doc, I’ve got this employee of mine who’s been giving me a hard time. Do you think…