Give Me My Crown Back

Unrelated  to any hard partying, sex tapes, or topless photo shoots, I have lost my crown. I feel so naked without it.  While I feel no shame over the loss of my crown, I admit I feel a little, over having one in the first place.

I, unwittingly, relate crowns to elderly people and  hillbillies, and beauty queens.  And since I am neither officially a beauty queen nor octogenarian, I am feeling a little bit Okie. Fortunately mine is a molar and the crown is white rather than the traditional silver or gold.  What feels more backwoods (besides sucking tepid coffee through a used straw) is the remaining gruesome knob of a tooth that is revealed when I pull back my cheek. I try to distract myself.  But,  like a moth to the flame, my tongue is beckoned to the jagged and hypersensitive nub of a tooth.

In contrast to the beauty queens who frequently forfeit their crowns,  my new more lustrous crown shall be restored this Friday.

Maybe I will revisit the matter of more regular flossing.