Bridging the Gaps

My dentist told me, yet again, that this whole divorce thing has not been good for my teeth. There's another chip, this time right in front. The gaps are getting wider.

As much as my attorney keeps assuring me that this will all be over soon, the gaps seem to widen on a daily basis. Just when I allow myself to think I can see the other side, my husband's ridiculously shameless botox queen attorney files yet another nonsensical pleading, and the bridge I thought we were desperately trying to build starts to sag like my all my factory original parts. I can't help but wonder how much money the aging beauty queen pocketed for producing the latest sloppy roadblock.

Oh, well, whatever. Back to more important things. Like my teeth. I fear I'm going to start looking a bit like Alfred E. Neuman, the iconic cover boy from Mad Magazine. Except I'll be anything but iconic. Moronic seems a bit more accurate. It's a good thing I've decided to give up dating; I realize there's a lid for every pot, but I don't think I want to get involved with someone who gets off on being able to reach his tongue all the way back to my tonsils even when my teeth are clenched.

I'm going to let my dentist fill in this one last chip, and then I'm just going to switch to a soft diet. Applesauce and yogurt from here on in, and unlimited beverages. My bar bill might go up a tad, but I'll still be a pretty cheap date. And these days, that equates to lots and lots of sex appeal, so maybe I won't have to give up on romance altogether.

As for the divorce, I don't think my dentist can help me with all the pesky little potholes that keep popping up as the botox queen continues on in her quest to erode my sanity, as she persists in her pricey efforts to gap the bridge. But, as the iconic gap-toothed Alfred always said, "What, me worry?" I just have to keep believing I'll get to the other side. Somehow.