Stupid pepperoni stick

When I was in grade two, I got hit by a tire swing. It was morning recess and I had just decided to take a break from the swings to enjoy my pepperoni stick. In those days, having a pepperoni stick as a snack was definitely something to be relished -- for once, my nanny didn't pack something weird like a packet of seaweed or a pimento loaf sandwich with extra butter. I wish I could describe the pain from the impact of the tire to my face, but I don't remember. I'm sure it hurt. I was lying on the pebbles in the middle of the playground, the new girl in Mlle Diotte's class -- the one with the bowl cut mullet. I'm sure I cried -- but was I too self-conscious to wail? The good thing about wearing a red jacket is that if you get blood on it, you won't see a thing. There was blood on the pebbles, blood spurting out of my face – the silk cotton-padded jacket with the black wool cuffs stayed red.

The blow resulted in damaged nerve endings -- hence the dark front tooth I've been ashamed of all these years. 19 1/2 years. I think my dental hygienist took great pleasure in reminding me at every visit that the tooth would only get darker. Her persistence paid off. And now I'll be paying her for the veneer job I've agreed to undergo tomorrow morning. Goodbye little brown tooth. Please oh please don't let them botch this up. I wonder if smiling for the camera will be easier from now on...