Danny has two weeks until his dental appointment. Because he has a tooth growing in behind another that will not fall out, it will probably require removal. Last visit, the dentist told Danny to try wiggling it a couple times daily, to see if he could dislodge it himself. No luck so far, but it is pretty loose. I offered to help out by grasping the tooth with one of those gripper things people use to open jars.
"Absolutely not! I want a licensed dentist. You're not a dentist, you're an anthropologist."
You know, these kids today are so picky. "EEEwww, I don't want you to remove my appendix with a razor blade, and a bottle of scotch. I want a licensed surgeon!"
Oh, and the Tooth Fairy sneaks into my put-up cordials and helps herself-then she tosses money all about Danny's room. We know it is her, I mean who else would be taking such healthy swigs of the cordials when it isn't Christmas? Anyway, I'd better lock up the booze as soon as that tooth comes out.