I cause an accident and have exploding teeth

My doctor, in order to figure out my fatigue and mutinous joints, sent me to a dentist. No, not a dentist - an oral surgeon. Way scarier, and sure to validate my insistance that all my problems are NOT due to Splenda. So yesterday I headed to town, playing loud music and weaving along the narrow highway, until suddenly I spotted a big utility truck lumbering toward me and punched the brakes, pulling over until my right wheels were off the road. The truck paused, then slowly eased past, the driver waving. BANGSMASH. Looked back to see that the truck had sideswiped an outcropping of rock while heading into the curve, its brake-lights blaring as it lurched to a stop. Was I supposed to get out? Was this my fault somehow? Do rocks require witnesses? Um... bye, truck driver. I fwooshed away, waving guiltily at two more utility trucks as they scooted past, and gunning it when I saw them brake in my rear-view. The road switched-back, and I averted my eyes, certain they were all lined up on the cliff, pointing accusingly at the car, "Hey, that's her right there! Stop her!" Voom.

Well, if that wasn't wrong, I'm pretty sure driving the wrong way up a one-way street probably is. But I did, and still got to my appointment with time to spare. They put my whole head in a spinning x-ray, like a rotisserie chicken. The dentist, a distinguished man of about 60, ran his pen down my chart, murmuring to himself. "30? She doesn't look 30 yet..." I beamed. "Where did you grow up? These fillings are things I usually only see on people from my generation." I wilted.



So, the long and short of it is that, although I don't have a cavity, there is some painless-yet-horrifying badness going on in my jaw, and it is leeching into my bloodstream and causing me to feel like walking death. To fix this, I get to have a root-canal and a FUCKING TOOTH PULLED OUT. As soon as possible, because, "These are time-bombs. Especially with you out there in Hana, they could blow up in a matter of hours and you'd be in some serious trouble." Well, shit. Took me and my amazing exploding mandible to the mall to buy pants that make my butt look like a cupcake. Work with what you have. Which is not, evidently, teeth. Bright side: this is all the fault of 1980s socialized dentistry - not Splenda! Will carry on shoveling down horse-doses of the sweet stuff.

In the end, there is still a chance I may need that shirtless-man-sedan, but it isn't looking so good. As I was driving home, I crested the cliffs and drove past the Keanae lookout, where a jeep was stopped in the road. I passed it with a wave, rounded the corner, and saw the most extraordinary thing; a shirtless man, running to catch up with his ride, broad-shouldered and cropped-haired and completely covered in tattoos. My shirtless man! And he was getting away! He saw me and grinned as I nearly took off the side mirror. Damn.