Maybe my liver is trying to tell me something

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My wife and I enjoy our libations on the weekends because we have children and that’s pretty much it.

Our favorite new drink of choice is called “Angry Balls” which involves me dropping my pants and slowly squatt-

Wait. Never mind. That’s something different.

Angry Balls is basically a bottle of hard cider with a shot of Fireball Cinnamon whiskey added in.

It is awesome and powerful and there are weekends where I’ve lost time and missed birthdays so I guess I can change that to ‘really powerful.’

We only drink on the weekends we don’t have children because our kids have big mouths and tattle on us to our exes and no one needs custody battles at this point. I pay enough in child support already, I don’t need to double it by losing complete custody of my kids because I’m passed out for 3 days straight.

When we DO drink, we use those big plastic cups with the screw-on lids and plastic straws. They are large enough to hold a full bottle of beer/ale plus ice plus whiskey so this is a great match for us and our need to be obliterated every two weeks.

Like our liquor cabinet, we put these cups WAY up on the top shelf of our ceiling-height cabinets. This keeps things out of the reach of the kids and, sadly, me because I’m only 5’3″ tall. I’m on my tippy toes a lot. It’s humiliating.

The cabinet we keep these in also houses our regular glasses and bowls.

It is this point that leads me to my tale.

My wife came home late after work and was at the sink when I walked into the kitchen to grab a bowl for cereal. Yes, I had had supper but I like to snack and I consider a quart-sized bowl of cereal and milk a valid snack. This is also why I cannot see my abs or ribs or any definition at all, really.

I opened the cabinet to grab a bowl, and that’s when it happened.

Perched 2 feet over my head was one of our drinking cups. Apparently, it had shifted against the glass door of the cabinet at some point although conspiracy theorists have sent me blurry footage of what appears to be my wife behind a grassy knoll propping the glass this way. Further investigation will be required for that.

Regardless, I opened the cabinet and looked up as the cup dislodged from its shelf and landed in all of it’s fury DIRECTLY on one of my front teeth.

I have no idea HOW it landed on my teeth, other than I must have been smiling really big because I was about to have cereal.

These cups, by the way, are not light.

The cup landed with a heavy THUNK right on my tooth.

I’d felt like I’d been punched in the face by Mike Tyson if, you know, Mike Tyson had heavy plastic cups as fists I guess.

I instinctively grabbed my mouth and spun around. Reaching in, I fully expected that the tooth was sheared in half.

It was not.

Instead, it looked like this:

My split, cracked tooth
My split, cracked tooth


Luckily, my wife is a dental hygienist so the following day I went down and she took x-rays. Being her husband I was FINALLY able to manhandle my health provider who found it very difficult to put the x-ray tray in while I was grabbing her boobies. She’s a trooper, though, and soldiered through it.

The x-rays showed everything looked good, except for the fact that when the cup hit the tooth, it pushed so hard against the tooth NEXT to it that it sheared off some enamel. I don’t know what this means because I’m not a dentist and when my wife explained it to me I didn’t listen because, well, I’m her husband and that’s what we do.

It took like a week for the pain to go away and there is still a possibility that the tooth is so traumatized that it may die.

I hope it doesn’t die. I’ve grown fond of having a front tooth right there.

My wife DID tell me – and I listened this time – that I could have it replaced with a fake tooth if I did lose it, which is awesome because I want a gold one that says “PLAYAH” but the A’s are made of diamonds. I assume I will get this for free because she works at the dentist’s office and I assume gold, engraved grills have to be a family perk.

I just hope they knock me out when they do the procedure, though.

Maybe I’ll just have an Angry Balls.