I am not the most graceful person in the world, but I might be the most stubborn. I like to dance, but I'll probably step on your toes with my cowboy boots. I like to walk on the curbs rather than the sidewalk, but I sometimes fall into the streets. Somehow, I've managed to live thirty-one years without needing stitches (excepting one time when I was 2 and fell in a toilet or something and bumped my chin).
But yesterday morning, I came downstairs to a filthy kitchen and was determined to clean up before cooking breakfast. I'd done a bunch of dishes the night before, but waited until morning to put them away. I took the blender, like I'd done many times before, and reached to put it on top of the refrigerator. At one point, it seemed like the glass pitcher part might be a little wobbly, but it's always been like that. I reached up anyway.
I am wee. 5'4". Not technically "petite," but only an inch off. My fridge is tall. And that glass pitcher from the blender toppled off and smashed me right in the face.
I cried a little while I held various parts of my tooth in my hand and wiped the blood from my lip.
I was still in hysterics when I called the dentist, who made room for me immediately, took x-rays, and "restored the tooth" in what seemed like 10 minutes. Dentists these days are magic.
Also, I learned that I have distinctively pointy canines. Maybe I'm part vampire. That would be cool because vampires are en vogue these days.
Anyway, all this goes to reiterate is that one of the most attractive features in the opposite sex remains: dental insurance.