double dang

When a person’s fake tooth goes missing she might have to search through all compost not taken outside yet, looking very closely at every parsnip peal and rotting carrot end, even though she would really rather not. She might wish she did not eat eggs, and drank instant coffee instead of real coffee. Especially when plastered with a whole bunch of coffee grinds, pomegranate rinds oddly resemble a fake tooth and small piece of scary pink plastic gum (and then that other shiny part that is usually inside her mouth holding it in. How will she kiss anybody? She won’t. Get over it. ) If she still doesn’t find it, the person who lost the fake tooth is going to have to pull the garbage can back from the curb and put it in the back yard, and go through IT, too after work. Dang!


What other explanation is there? Could a person give it away to neighbors in her sleep? Could it be the cat’s fault somehow?

At work I did not laugh and talk very much, only smiled restrainedly, for reasons that are my personal business. But it is disconcerting to discover that in a battle between vanity and entertainment, maybe vanity wins. In fact, it hurts my vanity to discover this.

At work, we got an accidental “reply to all” email (all = everybody in the geographic area using our government email system) trivial and dull except the person who did it was named “Dang”. Dang; he accidentally hit “reply to all”. Dang! He doesn’t know how to use the recall option! His name is an onomatopoeia, then, isn’t it?