by Lorraine Bartlett / Lorna Barrett / L.L. Bartlett
See, I was at Malice Domestic back in April, and my friend Avery Aames gave me a homemade goat-cheese brownie. It smelled heavenly, but I'd just eaten a big dinner and decided to save it for later. Later turned out to be about seven the next morning. It was a big day! I was nominated for an Agatha for best novel 2009 for my third Booktown Mystery BOOKPLATE SPECIAL. I had a busy day scheduled, topped off by being introduced to the whole conference with the other nominees.
I was nervous. Being nervous makes me hungry. So I bit into that delicious brownie and -- whoa! That was a big walnut in there. A big CRUNCHIE walnut. Only it wasn't a walnut, it was my bridge! I looked down at the brownie and saw a perfect impression of my bridge.
I cried for about twenty minutes. Then I dried my tears and finished the brownie. (Hey, it was delicious.) And I wondered if maybe people would vote for me out of sympathy. (Ha--didn't work.)
Now, I'd been to the dentist just the week before for my biannual cleaning. I mentioned to the hygienist that I was nervous about the bridge because it was a little wobbly and I had a BIG event coming up and didn't want it to fall out. "Don't worry--that thing's in there nice and tight. It'll last you a couple of months." And then she flossed all around it. Flossed really, REALLY energetically, something I'd been terrified to do. The dentist came in to check things out. She frowned. "It's pretty loose," she said. (It hadn't been just before all that flossing.) "Will it fall out before next week? I only need to it stay in there until next week," I said. She just frowned.
When I didn't win the Agatha I was actually kind of relieved. Now I wouldn't have to have my picture taken with a big hole in my mouth. (And I hadn't made room for the award on my shelf anyway.)
Fast forward five days. I'd hoped my dentist could just cement the crown back in, but she shook her head. "You broke off what was left of the tooth. You need implants. Or a partial plate. Go to the specialist for a consultation."
Scared, me? You bet. And I won't stop thinking about it until about 11 a.m. on August 9th -- when it'll be over with.