This story shall the hygienist teach her intern;

And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by,

From this day to the ending of the world,

But we in it shall be drilled and bonded –

We few, we happy few, we band of molars

For he today that sheds his gums with me

Shall be my oral surgeon, be he ne’er so sadistic,

This day shall gentle his condition,

And other teeth of wisdom accurs’d they were not here,

And hold their fillings cheap whiles any speaks

That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.

In other words, I’m getting my wisdom teeth out tomorrow. The real tragedy of the situation (besides my butchering of Henry V), is that my wisdom teeth aren’t bothering me – I just won’t have dental insurance starting at the end of August. My dentist seems to think that I’ll have to get them out eventually, thus the preemptive surgery to avoid being drowned in medical bills later on.
Socialized medicine. Socialized medicine. Socialized medicine. (If I wish for it hard enough, will it come true?)
Anyway, wish me luck! Here’s hoping this guy isn’t my oral surgeon…