Teeth of Wisdom, Part the Fini

El Conclusiono Grando: The procedure-of-slow-breathingness having ended, we now come to the final chapter in our series, Teeth of Wisdom: The Never Ending Saga.

Ma took her newly discharged charge and wheeled him down to the pharmacy in his nifty chair-of-mobility. Upon reaching the desk, the pharmacist informed Ma, "We have a decision to make. This did not go through.....oh wait....that was another patient! Your's is fine."

Ha HA! We love medicinal humor! It veritably brightens our day, especially since we left while it was still dark.

That med-induced cardiac event averted, Ma proceeded to the parking lot, where she had skillfully maneuvered the archaic Lincoln backwards into its parking space, in hopes that it would start. Naturally, it did not. And though in a previous excursion Ma had been aided by her formerly wisdom-toothed son, this time, she--was--on--her--own.

While Derek watched, mouth full of gauze and vaguely awake, Ma proceeded to pop the hood; unhook the carburetor cover; pop the trunk; remove the starter fluid; insert key in ignition; spray starter fluid close to tube/pipey thing and then run like crazy back and crank the key.

JUST as Ma was about to give up and go for more spray, THE ENGINE TURNED OVER!!

Ma's joy knew no bounds, other than a slight disappointment there had been no witnesses to her heroic feat. And without further ado, she pulled the Lincoln-of-Frustration over to her patient and got him safely situated into the front seat-of-reclinational-properties.

At last! Time to head for home. Ma expertly traversed the tangled web of streets, leaving the hospital behind her. Once more on the open road, she speed-dialed the cell phone for home, and received....a busy signal. Though it was her wish, nay her solemn duty to report the tooth extraction that required bagging and set off heart monitors normality, her efforts were stymied by the continual signal-of-business. It was at this point that Ma was supremely glad she had not relied on a call to el hubbo to pick up the drugs at the home pharmacy.

Much peaceful driving ensued, due in no small part to Derek's incapacitation which allowed Ma to play classical music. However, numerous calls home were attempted, all ending in the infamous busy signal. Ma was beginning to suspect foul play, or at least, lackadaisical phone hanging-up techniques.

The clouds temporarily parted north of Cedar Rapids, to reveal a McDonald's, promising meaty boon to Ma and milkshake repast to Derek. But alas, due to continued ooziness of mouth, the poor lad was re-in-gauzed. Mooish succor must wait.

Repeated calling attempts brought repeated busy signals, causing Ma to think up appropriate recompenses to be ladled out at a later date. Still, with the unswerving tenacity of someone who has no other choice--and who has been infused with new Diet Coke energy--Ma continued her northern trek.

Our tireless duo did make further stopage in Waterloo, for purposes of milk and yeast procurement. And as Ma loaded her purchases in the the car-of-doom, a kind and helpful man adjacent made the comment, "You've got a tire going flat..." just before he drove off into the proverbial sunset. Ma did look and she did perceive that indeed, the back left tire seemed less than alert. After another FRUITLESS call to the homestead, she partook of herself and the car to a gas station, which did prove to be supplied with broken air hose.

Knowing full well that the entire weight of the world did rest upon her shoulders, Ma came to an executive decision and proceeded to an additional station-of-gas. And lo, said haven hadeth hoseage which made noisage, leading Ma to believe it had put some air into the tirage.

Against all odds, Ma continued her trip home, pausing to make one---more---call, which, miracle of miracles, WENT THROUGH!!! It was by this time, though, harried and well-nigh exhausted, that Ma abandoned her dramatic retelling of events and merely murmured, "Everything's sorta OK. We're coming home."

Pills having been taken, and melted milkshake having been drunken, our courageous mother and son arrived safely at The Big House, where it was admitted that "someone" had not hung up the phone properly. (we shall not go into names, but his initials are Loren D. Hoyt)

Immediate plans for bloggoreal revenge were initiated.

Thus...FINALLY...ends the serial telling of Teeth of Wisdom. Autographed copies will be available in time for the Christmas holidays, professionally packaged in Saran Wrap, with a guaranteed minimum of six chocolate smudges per page.

Only $19.95...one copy per household...
 

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