I recently sat down with Cassandra Brown, who owns a dental school and is a resident of Ridgeway, for an interview. We talked about teeth, dental education, and all the grown-up things that come with it. I walked away thinking I’d learned something useful.
I didn’t realize how much thinking I was about to do.
Somewhere in the conversation, Cassandra mentioned tooth numbering. Like… teeth have numbers. Each one. A whole system. I’m not going to lie, I didn’t know teeth had numbers. I thought dentists just pointed and said, “This one doesn’t look right…”
That realization sent my brain on a journey.
Because once you realize teeth have numbers, you start realizing how many important things in life have systems nobody ever sat you down and explained. You just find out when it hurts.
Which brings me to a long, long time ago. Looonngg time ago.
There was a woman I was very interested in dating. In my head, we were going to get married, while in reality… we hadn’t been on a single date yet. Details have never stopped a good delusion.
My dad and I were putting brand-new tires on her car. And by “my dad and I,” I mean my dad was doing all the work and I was standing there just in case he needed me to hold the flashlight steady. Teamwork makes the dream work, baby!
We were all talking, laughing, having a good time, and somehow teeth come up and I decide to say, “I make my own toothpaste with coconut oil, essential oils, and baking soda. I’ve been doing it for like two years now!”
My dad then said to her and all of God’s creation, “So what you’re trying to tell us is you haven’t brushed your teeth in two years.”
Loud. Confident. In front of the woman I thought I was about to marry. (Again, delusional!)
Needless to say, we never went on that date. She did, however, drive away with some brand-new tires. Real smooth. There’s an old saying about not buying a woman shoes or she’ll walk out of your life. We bought her shoes for her car. And away she went. I saw her recently and her tires are bald now. She needs to go back and see my dad.
For the record, I was making my own toothpaste because I’m a teacher. And what’s the one thing teachers don’t have a lot of? Say it with me, class. That’s right. Money. I was trying to save.
That’s adulthood in a nutshell. Nobody tells you what really matters until it costs you something. Taxes, for example. If income taxes are so important, why do I have to figure out how much I owe you? If I’m doing the work, why don’t I just keep the money and we call it even?
And college. Don’t get me started on that pyramid scheme. I know, I know. I’m a teacher, relax. Some people should absolutely go. But not everybody. That’s a different column. Just know a lot of us signed paperwork at eighteen and didn’t fully understand it until… honestly, I still don’t know what I signed. Plausible deniability! No?! That’s not how that works? Shucks!
Anywho…
Laugh at me if you want, but making my own toothpaste definitely left my teeth shiny and my wallet with a little more money. Seriously though, this message was not approved by the ADA. Do not take my advice on dental hygiene. I’ll leave that to the professionals, like Cassandra.
Kenny Robertson, an educator and comedian, is a native of Ridgeway.