Jonathan Finch
28 too many (32 if you’re unlucky)
Have you ever considered the drag of cleaning all those teeth? If you’re old and without dentures what a curse! If you’re young and depressed then it’s just that umpteenth task to drive you towards suicide. Yes, it’s a real bind to go through all those routines that preserve the corpus, and take my word for it, it just gets worse and worse. For who, in her right mind (or even his), would be adoing the business of keeping body and soul together?
<a data-snax-placeholder="Source" class="snax-figure-source" href="http://creepypasta.wikia.com/wiki/The_Scarecrow_Murders" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener">http://creepypasta.wikia.com/wiki/The_Scarecrow_Murders</a>
I for one will NOT but seem destined to un-not the not! (Just one more example of the spirit being strong but the flesh weak!)
Because I am blessed and cursed with 28 gnashers, the hospital where I go has told me how to floss them in and out (and then out and in). I must use special toothpaste and not forget fluoride. However, last time they introduced me to a new power-brush to annihilate plaque. I had to purchase said hook-brush device. I must use it every time I use conventional elbow grease. I must floss not once but twice a day. I must rinse the old twenty-eight to avoid dropsy, and should I forget to do so, I must suffer the pangs of conscience.
All this to delay the inevitable.
BUT it gets worse.
I have other ailments and must expend – and if possible extend – incredible hours attending to them. For example, there is my unconventional verruca which reddens rather than blackens and requires thrice daily treatment. There are moles to be vaselined and feet-bacterial outbreaks to be anointed. I will avoid going into why I swallow fish-oil capsules, mini-aspirins, statins, and two varieties of blood-pressure, down-yer-throat-mate tabletoids, but let it be said these last-mentioned keep me very busy every day.
All in all not worth the trouble I hear you saying especially because my luck means it can only get worse.
So, here’s to old age, longevity, and mother nature’s great curse which is that no-go zone before DEATH. Leopardi told us mother nature was our stepmother. She’ll let us nestle close. She’ll cheat us. She’ll abandon us. She’ll laugh in our drooping jowls.
Take it from me, reader. Old age is not jolly. And it will catch up with you sooner or later.
