Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Today we have a special on Mithras, over in Aisle 7. Buy one round underground temple, get the second one at half price. Hurry up, because tomorrow you may be too late!
We have so many great ideas for entries this week. Last week we met a Very Odd God, and we want to invite him for an interview. And that's just for starters.
However, today reality intruded big time.
I have two daughters, The Heir and The Spare. The Heir is in high school. The Spare just started Middle School.
The Heir got braces when she was in Middle School. She wasn't happy about it, of course, but she bucked up and dealt with it, including wearing the butt-ugliest head gear I'd ever seen in my life. If memory serves me right, I believe she took two Tylenols the day she got her braces put on.
Today The Spare got her braces. And she erupted like a volcano. Not at the orthodontist, of course, but here at home, where she could scream like I was a Grand Inquisitor and she was some poor farm girl caught holding a kitten. She ranted. She fell on the floor and convulsed. She put on her shoes and announced that she was headed back to the orthodontist to insist the things be taken off. She begged me to stab her, to punch her in the face, to murder her with dispatch.
When I refused to end her life, she threw her new braces kit across the room, losing half the contents to the ever-vigilant faeries. They live for moments like this, when they can sneak off with dental floss and that teeny tiny brush that gets into the crevices.
At her insistance I called the orthodontist (half hoping that said doc would show pity and release a little dose of something stronger). Ortho doctor only pointed out that I have given birth to a first-class drama queen. I knew that already.
On the other hand, she could really be in screaming pain. How would I know? I never had braces. I grew up in Appalachia, and the only people with braces there were the few rich kids.
My teeth are crooked. And when I get sick of hearing how awful braces are, all I have to do is open my mouth and show The Heir and The Spare what they'll be missing by getting a little metal in their mouths while they're young.
Better go. The Spare is doped up on Tylenol and Advil, but they'll be wearing off soon and the neighbors are coming home from work. I really don't feel like having the cops at my door tonight because someone thinks I'm torturing my child.
FRAZZLED MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS