Times are hard now, and all we hear is talk about “The Great Recession”, debt ceilings, and the nation’s credit score – apparently the only financing the US qualifies for now is a loan for a 1987 Yugo with no A/C. Our memories are short, however. There was another recession in the early 1980s with high unemployment and soaring inflation. It was during this difficult time, although very young, that I began pursuing alternative methods of frugality to help my family – beginning with minor oral surgery.
It all began with my younger sister Sarah, who was a preschooler at the time. She’d developed a large abscess right above her front top teeth. You know the kind – infected bubbles of putrid pus that seem to pulsate with a life of their – OK, I’ll stop. Our mother instructed me to get Sarah dressed for a trip to the dentist. This should have been easy enough, but she (Sarah, not Mom) was an extremely opinionated little heifer and we usually clashed quite violently over wardrobe choices. Well, now that I think about it that does describe our mother as well.
I wanted to dress Sarah in one of the cute, preppy little outfits that were so popular at the time; she wanted to wear a bathing suit, rain boots, and a tutu that had seen much better days. I wanted to brush and curl her hair and put some adorable little frou-frous in it; she was more into the Rastafarian look that year and refused to allow anyone to touch her head.
As I eyed Sarah, who was baring her diseased little gums and fanatically clutching a ragged tutu from a dance recital our oldest sister had performed in before I was even born, it struck me. I was bigger than she was. At ten I was pretty much full grown, and as a child Sarah was not much heftier than a wet stick. I calmly laid out the outfit I’d selected, ignoring her growls. If I could catch her, I was home free.
“Not wearin’ that!” Sarah screeched vehemently, her clutch on the old tulle nearly shredding it. She stuck her tongue out at me for good measure. She had few defense mechanisms against her older siblings, but those she had she was lethal with. I knew I had to avoid two things; the long, skinny toes that would grip any human limb they could reach, pinching and twisting like a maniacal little lemur, and the tongue. Sarah would build up as much saliva in her mouth as she could, then slurp her opponent in the most particularly icky place she could think of (generally the ears or face) until spit oozed down your skin and you let go of her. Navy SEALs have been subjected to this very method of combat, and it has made many a hard man cringe and squeal in disgust.
I lunged for her, weaving as she dodged around the bed. I could see her cheek muscles contracting as she slammed her salivary glands into overdrive. Snarled strands of stringy brown hair danced before me, and I literally seized my opportunity. I threw Sarah bodily onto the bed and constrained her by sitting on her head.
Oh, it was a fight, let me tell you. After struggling mightily to force her into her pants, I got a good solid hold of her wrists with one hand to prevent escape as I grabbed for her shirt with the other. Her little mouth was open in a furious scream, and I noticed a lovely mess of blood and pus where the abscess had been. I recoiled with only one thought.
Oh crap.
“Mom! MOOMMMMMMMM!” the little fiend began to howl, twisting and spitting like something out of an exorcism movie. How was I going to explain this? I counted Sarah’s teeth as well as I could without a priest and holy water to make sure nothing else was missing, and then shoved her out the door with an order to go rinse out her big fat screaming mouth.
I had a bit of a time trying to convince my mother that I’d really done her a favor. Why pay a dentist to do what I had done for free? I have to wonder now if my mother hid her face behind a dishtowel because she was trying to mask her hysterical laughter after trying to berate me with a straight face. I know I would never be able to keep it together if one of my children performed dental work on their siblings by sitting on them.
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