Periodically, one of the functions of this blog is to produce a tale of woe. Here is the Woe of the Day. Night before last, about 10 p.m., I bit down on my right side and shot through the ceiling with pain. After a miserable night, I called my friendly dentist and, fortunately, he had a cancellation and got me in immediately. A quick X-ray and a 30 second diagnosis showed I had a cracked rear molar. The crack, however, went completely around the tooth and showed several other fractures. This was the gold crown I mistakenly bit down on a caramel on a couple of months ago and paid same dentist a bunch for glueing it on with super glue. This was the same dentist who filled two teeth a week before and told me, concerning one tooth, "It looks pretty good for what you have there." Like being told, you look great for being so blankety-blank old. So I was sent off down the street to my friendly oral surgeon who took one look at it and explained, I can put you to sleep, but be forewarned I will have to make deep incision in your gum, dig out some bone, and take the tooth out in itty-bitty (he didn't say itty bitty, he said little) pieces. But going to sleep will cost you $350 bucks. Take your choice. I paid the $350 bucks and woke up a bit woozy but minus the offending tooth. Now I have another choice: spend $2500 bucks for an implant, or chew on my gums. At least I won't have to drill and fill and crown that miserable tooth any more. Thus ends the tale of Woe until the next one. And I have plenty.