Uprooted (Not)

So, the endodontist (doesn't that sound like what a proctologist should be called?) taps on teeth, tickles my ivories, puts cold citrus juice on 'em, has me grind my chompers, et alia et cetera ad nauseam et saecula saeculorum amen (in English, not Latin).

No dice, meaning no excruciating pain.

Ergo (more Latin), he declines to perform the root canal. Not-specific-enough pain.


Is this the first time in the annals of Christendom someone was disappointed at not being the recipient of a root canal?

Of course, at lunchtime, agony revisited. This is a new development. The pain used to occur only after eating, not during.

I could not do nothing.

I dialed (a nice anachronistic phrase) my physician. A visit to him tomorrow.

Pass me the cyanide, please.

Okay, not today.

"Just for today," as Twelve Steppers are wont to intone.