My wisdom teeth

So today I thought I’d tell you about the day I had my wisdom teeth taken out. Chris and I had been dating for about nine months, I think. My mom wanted to come up and take care of me, but I wanted my beau to spoil me. Surgery was scheduled for a Thursday afternoon. I would stay the weekend at Chris’ house to make it easier for him.
I took some pill a half hour before my surgery. I didn’t really know what the pill was supposed to do. Apparently, it was supposed to relax me. Chris had never been to the office before. Let me tell you, taking directions from someone in a drunken stupor must have been trying for him.
“Um, that was the turn.”
“Where?”
“Right back there somewhere,” with a very wimpy pointy type gesture.
I don’t remember them taking me from the chair to some bed. I remember a nurse asking if I could get up. I said yes and fell right back to sleep. I have a vague memory of leaving the office. I believe I was half carried out. And then there was the car ride out.
“Did you call my mom?”
“Yes.”
“Did you call Jana?”
“Yes.”
“Thanks.”
A minute or two of silence.
“Did you call my mom?”
“Yes.”
“Did you call Jana?”
“Yes.”
Pete and Repeat sat on a boat. Pete jumped out. Who was left?
Repeat.
Pete and Repeat sat on a boat.
And so it went.
We got back to Chris’ house. My throat felt like a Texas summer (have you seen the lakes after this year’s draught? Or rather, the cracked land where once a lake stood?).
“Are you sure you can drink water?”
“Mm-hmm. I need some.” I proceeded to put the full glass to my lips and dribble it down the front of me.
“Okay. Do you have another shirt?”
“No.” I don’t know why I told him that. I had packed a bag for the weekend with clothes. Yet, at that moment, I believed I had no other clothes in the world. My dear Chris got one of his shirts.
Now, keep in mind that we are not married at this point.
I begin to pull the wet T-shirt over my head. With Chris standing directly in front of me.
Chris: Uh, okay. I can’t just stand here and watch, but if I leave, she may fall over at the rate she’s going.
So my dear Chris turned his back to me and listened for a thud. The thud never came, and I successfully maneuvered out of the old tee and into the new.
The rest of the weekend was fairly uneventful. Chris fed me applesauce, easing each spoonful into my creaky mouth.
That’s how I lost my four wisdom teeth.
Kindly refrain from the bathetic jokes of my loss of wisdom. Trust me, it was never there.