I broke a tooth the other day. Strangely it didn't hurt, not even remotely. Turns out I had a dead tooth, the little guy just gave up his will to live and let go. It's not all that often that it turns out to be quite convenient to have a dentist for a father, but there are these rare and wonderful occasions that it pans out quite well, if I do say so myself. I instantly had a new tooth made for me the following day. There is not much else to say about this rather mundane experience, just the following photo documentation of the birth of my artificial tooth:
My dad is a seriously serious badass.
The little drill sounded like a transistor radio in my head.
I may look concerned in this picture, and rest assured, I was.
My dad pulled down this little mirror so I could see what he was up to. And to just generally get me to shut the fuck up.
Note the blood on the gloves.
The aftermath. Weapons of mouth destruction (well actually mouth regeneration, but whateves).
A side note - I've had a splinter in my heel for well over a week now, I don't think it's coming out.