One of the very best reasons I can think of as to why I should not breed is the mere fact that I could pass on my genetic mutations.  Yes, there I said it, Hi my name is Vapid and I have genetic mutations.  I think that if you have one, that is one too many to breed. I have at least two known and catalogued. And I suspect there are others. Like, say the granuloma annulare I had as a young girl (don’t want to link you to a picture cause it is just not pretty).  Just this thing that came one day that no one seemed to be able to diagnose until a *DR* told my mother that it could be one of three things two of which are fatal…aghhhhh (my mother was a wreck until the biopsy came back) Obviously and thank the neanderthals that it was just this thing that came one day and left a year or so later. (kind of like that hippie cousin who stayed with your family for a while, who was travelling the world post college, you know the one, she would take you out to parties and let you smoke stuff and drink and…then she left like a year later and became a millionare making something totally useless.)

The next one, which is my favorite mutation, is my fang….yup I had a fang.  Unfortunately not the sexy kind of fang(s) that Bill Compton has. (I love that show and am counting the days until next season) Mine was this little stubby fang situated behind my left central and lateral incisors, but nevertheless, I Had a FANG. I used to stick hershey’s kisses on it and let them hang there melting in my mouth, yummm mmeee. (it now rests in my childhood jewelry box at my parents house, which is why there is no visual here)

My least favorite mutation came back to haunt me last Friday.  I had forgotten all about this one, I call him The Fourth Root.  Where most people have three roots in molars, I have four in mine.  This mutation was discovered back in 1995 when I had my first and sworn to be my last root canal. Until last Friday. I don’t really feel like I broke my promise to my self by having another root canal since this new root canal was on top of the old root canal.  Kind of like having a scar that you re-open just to dump salt on it. Not fun, made even less fun by the fact that in that tooth lies The Fourth Root, the forgotten root.

Oh My God…The Fucking Root of all EVIL and it lives in number 30 in my mouth.

Oh the horror…and pain.

All of this made worse by the fact that I am outrageously mildly claustrophobic so when the endontist, who looks like a body builder, tried to put the dental damn on, and the brace and the spreader, and on and on, I had a gigantic mild little panic attack.  (Really, my palms were sweating,  I was panting, my heart was racing, I was possibly crying and definitely shaking and thinking I am so glad not to be a single lesbian what with those dental damns and all, how does one breathe lest inhaling a latex nap.) Not to mention, how sexy is it to be drooling, crying shaking, breathing heavy, with all sorts of stuff jammed in your mouth…um kind of souds dirty doesn’t it?

At the end of session one (oh yes The Fourth Root has made  sure I get to go back in a week for more torture work) the Super Endo tells me it will be sore, and I am all like ‘cool where is my script for perc’s?’ But that was kind of all he said to me until I asked him if it was okay to take something for the anxiety next time…he didn’t seem to interested in that, and almost against it, but I am doin’ it and The Fourth Root can go suck it, oh wait that was my fangs job….and I had it pulled…dummy!

Excuse me, I uh, umm… have to go chase my tail now.