My dentist made me get a night guard earlier this summer. This came after his dad (and my former dentist) did his darndest to convince me I needed one for years.

They say I clench and grind my teeth and am doing permanent damage as a result. I resisted because I know myself well enough that I was certain it would not be a happy situation. 

Turns out we were both right – I do need it and I do hate it. 

To be precise, I hate this thing with the fire of a thousand Ohio August suns. Just the act of having this foreign object in my mouth is enough to set me off.

Earlier this week, I laid in bed trying to decide if I sounded more like Cindy Brady or Daffy Duck when trying to talk. A few failed attempts at enunciating the phrase “suffering succotash” proved that you can call me Daffy. 

I have taken to soaking it in mouthwash right before bedtime and that has made it more palatable. It’s a necessary evil so I’ll wear it but you can bet I’ll be doing my Daffy Duck impersonation until I fully adjust. 

Suffering ssssuccotash!