To Tell the Tooth

I've received my first housewarming gift, and I haven't even moved yet. A hand carved, hand painted wood block identifying me as "queen of the double wide trailer." Damn right I am. Sometimes my friends make me downright weepy.

And sometimes, when I'm already downright weepy, my friends make it stop. With a long distance phone call from a (gasp) pay phone because there is no cell service in the wilds of Montana. With an encouraging email. With an invitation (often more of a command) to go to lunch. With an early morning visit in lieu of a planned work out just to give me some warm hugs and listen to me bitch. I'm kind of looking forward to my first dinner party in the trailer, just so I can have all my wonderful friends in one place.

As I fill up garbage bags with clothes to give away and trash to toss, I am becoming mentally prepared for a scaled down life in a trailer. I'm almost looking forward to it. There will be less room for clutter; maybe that will apply to my brain as well.

I had been concerned, for a while, about what I would do with the damn piano. The baby grand that sits in our family room, gathering dust and an occasional cluster of family photos. Years ago, my mother-in-law had somehow acquired the piano from the church where she worked, had it refurbished, and shipped it out to us in hopes that one of our children would play. They didn't. But it sure is pretty.

As luck would have it, I was recently informed that my mother-in-law wants to be sure that her son gets the piano. Guess she wants to keep it in the family. Wait, it wasn't really in the family to begin with. No matter though. I would've hated to have to cut off its legs and maybe pitch half of the ivories just to get it through the door of the double wide.

Issue resolved. Now I'm free to work out the finishing touches, which will include not only dumping lots of stuff but working on myself to make sure I blend in with the trailer crowd. I'm already off to a good start. My teeth have been cracking at an astonishing rate. My dentist attributes it to stress, and has begged me to stop being so stressed out. What a great idea! But, in the meantime, with the last crack appearing right there in my front tooth, I am ready to fit in with my new neighbors. I suppose I might have been able to use some of the extra ivories from the too large piano to help with some dental repair, but, alas, the piano must remain intact and reside somewhere more suitable.

Let's face it. You can't be queen of the double wide if you have a perfect set of choppers. Who needs all those teeth anyway? It's not as if I can afford steak. And a big black hole where your front tooth once stood makes it so much easier to slurp up spaghetti.