I slept in those goddamn teeth bleaching trays last night. This was
after I managed to spray the bathroom with six days worth of precious bleaching goo. My frustration at not being able to operate the tiny, goo-filled syringes led me into a snorting, drooling frenzy that was only enhanced by the pound and a half of rubber in my mouth. “You look like the Hulk,” R noted over his magazine. “The Hulk, only with rabies.”
"No," I gargled. "The Hulk has
yellow teeth. I'm more like... a better bred, slightly less crazed Cujo. "
"Stop spitting on me," he begged, sheilding himself with the now damp and pulpy magazine.
This morning it took me ten minutes to scrape the drool off my face. And my teeth are so sensitive that they've asked for fashion glasses and track lighting. "Beaches" is on cable and three of my molars are crying right now.
