Mar 26, 2017 3 min read

The days of Double Bubble are over. No more chewing gum for me. Now, both of my front teeth (the uppers) have been replaced by duplicates, implants. My mouth is nearly bionic. This smile is no longer my own. My mouth is someone that I used to know.

Two years ago, my front tooth (Central Incisor number 9) was replaced. Now, its next-door neighbor (Central Incisor number 8) has also been replaced. Both had root canals. You could punch me in the face and I wouldn’t feel anything, except in my wallet.

I guess I shouldn’t brag about how easy it would be to punch me in the face. That’s just begging for flying fists to come at me.

By the way, if you Google “Two front teeth,” you get an abhorrent Christmas song. Don’t do it. You’ve been warned.

The new crown feels weird. I’m not used to it yet. It’s like driving around a new car, except it doesn’t have that new car smell. Thank goodness!

But here’s the deal: I can no longer chew gum. I can’t bite into a Honey Crisp or Gala. I have to slice my apples like an octogenarian.

I sat in the dentist’s chair and he told me the bad news. I rolled with it. I made a bad joke. Most of them are. The dentist said, “What are you, some kind of comedian?”

I just gave him a wayward look. Did he guess? Maybe it’s printed on my insurance card. I told him that I am, indeed, a comedian.

Side note: You should never have to tell anyone you’re a comedian. They should be able to assess your identity by guffaws and giggles. But I’m not always “on.”

But I digress, like I do. After a few minutes of him poking around in my mouth, he said, “Let’s get an impression.”

I said, “I can do some funny accents, but I haven’t done impressions in years.”

I tried to give him a little Paul Lynde, reciting old material from the “Hollywood Squares,” punctuated with that distinctive, jaunty laugh. He just stared at me and said, “An impression of your mouth.”

Then, he stuck some pistachio-colored goo in my mouth that hardened over my front teeth. Several minutes went by. After it solidified, he pulled the hardened material from my jaw, ripping it from my head with a powerful tug. I thought half of my skull was going to go with him.

Luckily, the teeth stayed in there.

There is an upside. I can drink really cold beverages without wincing, but I can never bite into an apple again. I will never be able to twist off a beer cap with my mouth.

Note: Don’t try it at home, kids. You must never use your front teeth like a tool. They are for crunching and brushing only.

OK, it’s not bionic, but my new teeth aren’t as cheap as the originals, i.e. free.

It won’t be long before it’s a “Six Million Dollar Mouth.”

Call Hollywood. I think I’m on to something here.