So I’m deep into a good chew, working my way through the ultra-durable connective tissue of a dye-free, chemical-free, phthalate free alligator, when my goddamn tooth falls out.
I know, right?
One minute I’m grooving on the heavy-duty construction of a fake reptile, and seconds later, I’m watching my favorite incisor bounce across the linoleum like a Mexican Jumping Bean. What next? Leprosy? Necrotizing fasciitis?
The biped says not to worry. Say it’s “totally normal.” Of course, that’s what he says every morning when I look down at my faux-fleece, hypo-allergenic sleeping pad, covered with hair. Each day, a little more than the last. O, that this too too solid flesh would melt, thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!
I grow old . . . I grow old . . .
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think they will sing to me…
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