The Devil In my Teeth

By , Amesbury, MA
I was dreading the coming morning. When the lights were all turned out in the house, and I was lying awake in my bed, cuddled up next to my mother. She was a sleep happy, breathing evenly but audible in the silent darkness of the front bedroom.

I was doomed to visit the orthodontist in the morning. A awful foreboding of aching teeth, and the Devil's beady eyes staring at me out of his pudgy sockets. The horrific crooked tooth smile, and over sided clownish chubby cheeks, with the stone cold anesthetic smell, that chills the bones in your body. The Devil, as I call Dr. Jeffery Lenard my orodontist, is of that ugly description. No, he doesn't wear blue dresses, (thank God).

Why, was I shivering in my pajama's in my warm cozy bed about this character? Well, you see, reader, he hates me, as I hate him.

The first time I met him I spoke five sentences before I realized I was destined to repel him. This is odd, since I was doing my best to be friendly, (of course I might have been being annoying in his point of view now that I think over it.) I, being a lovely child, A+ student, and compelled to be polite, I was close to strangling him.

At the moment typing the word "him" doesn't seem quite as grungy as the nickname I have for the dear creature. I wish I could call him the Devil in person. But, the above paragraph contradicts my motives. My rebellious personality and sin have and had to overrun just briefly.





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