It’s Official. I’m a Freak.

I’ve finally figured it all out.

I am a freak. Seriously. I’m a genuine freak and I saw definitive proof yesterday morning.

All it took was a routine dental exam and a new-fangled panoramic x-ray machine to uncover the evidence.

Living right there in my gums above my two front teeth is an extra tooth. It’s true. And it has gone undetected for more years than I care to share with you.

Of course, my twisted (freaky) mind immediately latched onto Stephen King’s, The Dark Half. I was so excited I almost started a manic plot description for the hygienist and dentist recounting Thad Beaumont and his pen-name turned alter-ego-psycho-killer, George Stark. Instead, I wisely chose to silently recall Thad Beaumont and the twin he absorbed in utero. The twin was discovered after Thad suffered debilitating headaches as a child. Initially, the headaches were blamed on a mass in Thad’s brain but, when the surgeon opened Thad’s skull, he found (GASP!) a nostril, fingernails, part of an eye and…wait for it…TEETH!

Purdy, ain't I?

Okay, so I’ll admit that my weird extra tooth wasn’t causing the dentist any visible alarm. It was merely my over-active writer’s imagination at work, but I was momentarily placed in a state of awe while I mentally reviewed the plot of The Dark Half. I might have a partially absorbed psycho-killer twin living in my head at this very moment! Think about it. It explains a lot. Like that time when I was eight and I cornered my brother and sister in the kitchen with a butter knife and threatened to kill them. They shouldn’t have teased me because evidently, they angered my toothy twin.


It turns out the dentist was more worried about the two wisdom teeth I need to have yanked. One grew when I was in my twenties and never really caused me any problems…until now. It seems my rogue tooth has, indeed, gone rogue. Sad to say, but it’s time to say goodbye to my beloved tooth and it’s impacted friend. They will be extracted by an oral surgeon at some yet-to-be-determined date in the near future.

Whatever. I always have time for oral surgery, graduate school, three children and a husband as long as I’m offered a hearty dose of anesthesia and a couple of Percocet for my trouble.  Also, my absorbed twin likes things like Percocet and booze. I find that keeping it medicated alleviates the anger it feels because I absorbed it in utero. Who the hell wants to share the spotlight with a twin? Sheesh. I’m way too selfish for all that business!

Eggs…What Are They?

Gwen has most definitely inherited that family trait (my side) that causes one to purposely mess with the minds of family members. You know, just for a private laugh at the expense of someone else’s frustration. Initially I was worried. I thought that she might actually be some kind of idiot, but in the midst of one of her very Gwen-like mind f*&# sessions, I realized that the kid is just messing with me!

Lately, she’s really into “cooking” her own breakfast. In reality this simply entails standing on a stool at the counter and cracking eggs into a bowl. It was during a recent egg cracking session in the midst of the morning rush that Gwen embarked on her plan to toy with me. She saw my preoccupation with the siblings and realized I wasn’t on top of my mental game. She moved in for the kill. Well played, grasshopper. Well played.

“Mom, is an egg an egg?”

I stopped struggling with Joe’s zipper for a moment and looked at her. My head said, what the #$^% is this kid blathering about now? My mouth said, “What?”

“I said….Is…An…Egg…An…Egg-ah?” Notice the emphasis on the snotty ‘ah’ at the end of the word egg, as if it now contains two syllables.

I attempted to ignore her snotty attitude and decipher her train of thought. Without making eye contact, she continued cracking away and picking shells from the egg mixture while not so patiently awaiting my response. Okay, so I just threw this out there… “An egg is a chicken embryo…kind of a baby chicken before it turns into a baby chicken.”

“No. What is an egg? Is it an egg?”
Alright, what the eff is going on here? “It has a shell, that’s kind of like a bone to protect the inside of the egg…the embryo…er, baby chicken part.”

“But what is an egg, really?”

“It’s an oval?” I said, but it somehow turned into a hopeful question. Oh, please let that have been the answer to her deeply philosophical question so we can move on with the day.

“But is it an egg?!” she was nearly shouting at this point and holding out her hands, either mocking me or demonstrating her frustration at my sheer stupidity.

Joe stopped writhing around on the floor for a moment and shouted, “Gwen, eggs are baby chickens that the mom chicken poops out!” Well, thank God someone else is becoming as exacerbated with this line of questioning as I am.

Looking slightly freaked out, Gwen shreiked, “You mean eggs are chicken poop?!”

Not wanting to open the whole reproduction can of worms, I rubbed my eyes and entered that stage where I was about to lose my mind.

“No. Eggs are not chicken poop.”

“So…is an egg an egg?”

Mind lost.

“Yes, Gwen. An egg is an egg. It’s an egg when it’s an oval, it’s an egg when the mom-chicken poops it out, and it’s an egg when you crack it. It’s an egg when you scramble, fry, poach or hard boil it. It’s an egg when you eat it. It’s an egg if you drop it. IT’S ALWAYS A STINKIN’ EGG!”

I walked into the pantry in a huff and attempted to deep breathe myself into a state of relaxation. Mid-breath, I heard Gwen whispering to Joe. “Joe…hey, Joe! I’m teasing mommy”, she said in a voice that was dripping with delight. I peeked around the corner and saw her standing next to Joe, triumphantly giggling with her hand covering her mouth. ZING! She got me.

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