Who's afraid of the dentist?

In a recurring theme, I bite into something and crack a tooth. Ironically the last time this happened, I was dining at a healthfood / veggie / organic place that apparently pays much less attention to the state of adulteration of the beans in its burritos than they do to my future health. Anyway.

So I go to the dentist. After she pokes around she decides, oh well since this is the absolute last molar and tough to play around with, let me remove all your teeth. This is accomplished shockingly quickly and I am sent packing with what looks like a great set of false teeth, all in one set, perfect for the show case of my new apartment. Well almost: I thought I was more of a dashing handsome guy, than a bucktoothed bugs bunny; also I swear my bicuspids were decidedly hetero when in the closet. Er... I mean my mouth.

As I sit in the bus stop trying to whistle, I realize with a start I forgot to ask about the time limit to put the thing back, sans guilty last right molar that I assume I can remove at leisure using my Philips screwdrivers, Meccano set, my neighbor's power tools etc. I rush back to ask the dentist how long before I must plop my teeth back, since I would like to Pimp my Teeth. To my utter horror she says "sorry, you didn't tell me you want to keep all your real teeth, so I took the easier option of removing them all, rather than belabor with the last one. I bet even your girlfriends did not get to it. Anyway this is an underfunded government facility, and I am late for a lynching, tata!". She also has become knockout pretty on this trip, while she looked like a cow (sea cow, if you are an easily-offended Hindu) the last time.

As I rue a life of not being able to whistle versus the pain of getting 324 implants (give or take a few, who knows how many teeth exactly we have - blame the school system. Also Marx.) I wonder how come I suddenly am able to appreciate the gravity of the situation, while letting her remove my teeth in a jiffy and en masse, the way spies press a catch and open the door to Mr. Evil's drug factory, or in my version, his harem.

Perhaps I am dreaming. Or perhaps I am just coming off the anesthetic.