If you lose a tooth as an adult, you know damn well the tooth fairy isn't going to place a few bucks under your pillow. And he sure as hell ain't paying for an implant. No. We're all grown up here.
I should know. A few years back, I had an abscess that was so bad, they had to extract the tooth. Instead of getting an implant, I got a temporary false tooth. The inconvenience of this cheaper (but by no means, cheap) solution is that I have to remove the thing at night and put it back in the morning. Otherwise, it's no big deal.
But a few weeks ago, I went to spend the night at my BFF's place. The plan was relatively tame: drinks and dinner, then I'd sleep over and drive the two hours back to my house in the morning. But oh, man, that turned into one expensive night. Not only did I get so wasted that I ended up buying round after round for all my friends, but for the life of me, I couldn't find my false tooth!
I woke up at my friend's house suffering the hangover from hell. It felt like deadly food poisoning—only worse. It was already late afternoon and I was going nuts trying to find my tooth. It wasn't in the bathroom or my bedside or in my suitcase. All I could think of was that I'd lost it—that while I was tossing my cookies, the little guy flew out of my mouth and into the toilet. But I didn't want to believe that because if in fact it had gone down the toilet, it was going to cost me big time.
I sat on the floor and texted my friend at work: "I can't find my tooth."
"You mean like in 'The Hangover'? LOL," she texted back, thinking I was joking.
"No," I texted, my head feeling as if it might explode. "As in … I lost my fake tooth last night."
"I didn´t know you had a false tooth!"
I imagined her sitting at work, laughing and sharing the story with her coworkers. I was mortified. I texted: "If you find it, please keep it for me."
I can think of a million things I'd rather lose at a friend's house: my panties, money, a bra, my false eyelashes—even my credit cards. Anything, really. But not that very expensive false tooth. Never mind that I was going to have to explain to my husband that my girls' night out ended with me spitting out the darn thing into a toilet. Aside from not being a very sexy thing to admit to, getting a new one was going to put a serious dent in our budget.
But, really, where the heck could it be? When I travel, I usually leave it in a small glass in the hotel bathroom. When I crash at a friend's house, I usually hide it in my toiletry bag. I don't want someone to accidentally drink my tooth in the middle of the night.
So there I sat at my friends house, feeling like crap, trying to figure out where I might have placed the false pearly white. I picked through the wastepaper basket in the bathroom. I crawled on all fours and searched every square inch of the bathroom floor—even behind the toilet.
After an hour of fruitless search, I gave up. I must have thrown it up for sure. I know that at my age, I should be a lot more responsible about these things, but sometimes I still mess up. Who doesn't, right?
I walked out of the house toward my car and pulled the keys from the front pocket of my jeans. As I tugged at the keychain, something popped out, flew in the air and fell on the grass in front of me. My tooth!
I suppose that in my drunken stupor, I decided to put the tooth in my pocket for safe-keeping. I picked up the little white pebble like it was made of gold, wiped it clean with my T-shirt and put it back where it belonged—in my mouth. I was overcome with a wave of relief only someone who has ever lost their tooth at a friend's house after a night of reckless abandon can understand.
But before I got into the driver's seat, I texted my friend: "Found my tooth!" then followed it with a happy-face emoji.
It wasn´t until I got a call from my husband that I realized I'd texted him by mistake. Instead of explaining how I'd lost my tooth in the first place, I'm just going to send him a link to this story.