In honor of Molly’s wisdom teeth removal this week, here’s a repost of her sister’s experience…
On Friday, I packed the car full of soft food goodies and hurtled my best Florence Nightingale self down I-94 to nurse my poor daughter Katherine back to health after the extraction of her wisdom teeth.
With dramatic visions of bloody gauze and bruised cheeks in my head and a cell phone with spotty GPS in my hand, I made my way south, certain that when I eventually broke through the redundant Chicago traffic and found her tiny apartment I would discover her reclined, puffy cheeked, incoherent with pain.
She met me at the curb.
“Hey!” she said as she jumped in the car. ‘Let me help you find a place to park.”
“Did you miss your appointment?” I wondered.
“No, I got back a little while ago.”
“How did you get there?”
“I took the El.”
“You took the El to your wisdom teeth extraction? How did you get home?”
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