You’ve got food in your teeth and I’m not quite sure what to say.
It’d be different if it was one of those green leafy things that I could just quietly point to on my corresponding tooth so you would pick up a napkin or your finger and just wipe it away. But at this moment, that’s not what’s in your teeth.
You’ve got one of those black food pellets that resemble a poppy seed lodged inbetween your two front teeth, but so high up I can’t hardly tell if you just have a space there (cause I’ve never looked that closely before) or if it really is a piece of food. But you’re eating a burger and there were no poppy seeds in that burger so, hmph.
I run through all the possible scenarios in my head.
#1: I tell you there’s food there and you get embarrassed because it’s just a space in your teeth and you go to one of those dentists who is going to give you braces or fill in the spaces and it’s this huge insurance issue because they don’t want to pay for 80% of the work and before long you’re selling your body on the street to just fill in that damn space that had I never mentioned in the first place, you would have never given birth to a child from “one of your many johns” and left the city in a huge motor home, never to return.
#2: I tell you there’s food there and you try to fish it out with a sugar packet just as the waiter comes over to ask us if we want anything else and as you’re trying to jerk it out of your teeth you smack the waiter, accidentally of course, sparking a huge legal battle of which you have never seen. You lose everything and end up living in a huge motor home somewhere in Utah.
#3: I tell you there’s food there and you fish it out and think I’m the most wonderful person in the world for telling you that and then you start telling everyone else how wonderful I am and I get my own TV show where I go into restaurants and tell people they’ve got food in their teeth and we call it “The Food-In-The-Teethinator” and it’s a huge success on one of those high DirecTV channels and then I make lots of money and leave town in a huge motorhome which I use to travel the country until one day I’m not looking at the road because I’m watching myself on the plasma screen in the motorhome and I drive the damn thing off a cliff, into the Grand Canyon, and die.
I figure there’s no good that can come out of telling you there’s something in your teeth. So, I suspect I’ll just let you go the rest of your day dealing with it there.
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