I have an excuse for my meager offering yesterday. I sat in a dentist chair for three hours. That can take its toll on one’s muse, not to mention the available credit on one’s Visa card.

I thought I was through the worst of it. Really I did. During my last visit, I had a syringe jabbed directly into the pulp of my molar during a root canal. When it was all over, the nerve was gone. I assumed what was left of my tooth was in a persistent vegetative state.

I was wrong. You see, there are a lot of nerves in that part of the lower jaw, all of them drama queens. When the dentist went in for round two, they sang out in a four-part harmony of pain.

My dentist has a method for a patient communicating when the discomfort level gets too high. You raise your hand. This makes perfect sense since you can’t adequate voice your concerns with a hand shoved down your mouth.

However, if the dentist doesn’t notice or chooses not to, this method is far from perfect. In my case, he just kept on drilling while my arm went up and down so many times I felt like an extra inTriumph of the Will.

Maybe I should just let my teeth rot and move to England. A jack o’ lantern smile carries little social stigma there and when flashed at prospective employers or immigration officials, is accepted as proof of citizenship.