A Battle to the Death

After a tidy shut-out win down at Busch last night, nothing follows up that kind of entertainment better than a vet appointment, shots, vet bills, the dentist [with cankersore, I might add], and more Greek flashcards.

Yawn…

Puck enjoyed his Wednesday night with Carrie though. She drove him up to the school with the telescope to check out that starry soup. Maybe a nibble of the moon, too.

Puck watched me across a lunch bowl of healthy orange and brown organicals – those tired cold eyes – over “Adventures in Odyssey”. Being in possession of a cough doesn’t keep this chap down. He was up for some boxing practice with the Bear after noon. [I don’t know what this guy thinks he’s training for… Being a boy, I guess.] And he was ready for his teeth wash at three o’clock.

So…

It’s an irrelevant fact in the Younger Silverspoon household that there exists this one small perpetual rift between the Bear and myself… solely on my end, I might add. By introduction…

The Bear has terrible teeth.

I don’t.

The Bear sort of sometimes takes care of his teeth.

I always take care of my teeth.

The Bear has never had a cavity.

I have.

Well laugh it up, bub. Because today – after my pearlies were dentist-described as – “couldn’t be any whiter” [I flatter myself, truly] – he examined my x-rays…

“Have you ever had a cavity?”

“Well… Yes…” I guiltily and unfathomably admitted. “A couple of years ago…”

He turned back to me with a sort of you’re-kidding-me-chuckle and declared…

“That little filling?” he pointed to the screen. “[Scoff.] That doesn’t count!”

VINDICATION!

Well.

[David Tennant Doctor Who-style “well”.]

As good as it’s ever going to get.

I celebrated with an apple juice, trimming out the Bear’s Greek flashcards in the park while the boys ran around in the early evening.