Little Rabbit Fo Fo

I'm better! Sometime in the night my crud crept away as stealthily as it crept in on Tuesday. I can breathe and talk and sleep and eat and everything, just like a real boy! So I'm ready to pick up again at last where I left off, which was --

Oh, but wait.

Some of you might be wondering how it went with Dr. Canadian Dentist yesterday. If you are not one of those sickos, then feel free to just skip down to the pictures, but if you are: my twenty-minute appointment took three foing hours (yes, that was supposed to say "f-ing," but I like the typo so I left it; I might just keep it for a while. So foing what?).

Not three hours of actual dental work, but three foing hours of waiting for the lab to open, then polishing the crown, then oops it's too high, then oops we ground it down too far, then the guy in the lab is in a meeting so he can't build it up again, then he did but it's too high again, then oops we ground it down too far again... and finally me saying "I don't care if there's a little bit of metal showing, I want to go foing home!"

So now this crown -- this crown, in the pursuit of which I have suffered for six straight months. This crown, which has now cost, including the surgery and re-treat root canal complete with perf and gattapercha (remember the perf and gattapercha?), somewhere in the neighborhood of $1600. This crown, for a tooth that broke on opening day and that a team of so-called experts could not bring home by Super Sunday. This crown?

Has a black dot in the middle that looks exactly, but exactly, like a giant, rotten, stinking dental cary. (That's "cavity," for those of you who aren't down with the gattapercha.)

Fo.

Anyhoo, so back to the cabinets...

I was going to take individual pictures of all my plates so as to prove once and for all who won the contest and wax poetic about them, but the battery on my camera died this morning (fo!). So you'll have to settle for these shots I took a few days ago and up till now had decided not to run. On my way home from work I'll pick up a new battery, and I'll wrap up that other thing this afternoon. Really, this time.

Okay, let's see, what first? Oh! These were a gift from my sister:

Plastic beer mugs. Or water, I suppose. Juice, iced-coffee, Kahlua sombrero -- put whatever you like inside them, the important factor is: even Destructo can't get them to break! Seriously, I think she gave them to me in 1999. There were a dozen then. Now there are eleven left! That's some kind of kitchen-miracle right there. Plus, I bet if I looked I'd find the other one, probably under the bed where Andy sleeps when friends like us don't let friends like him drive home.

These, however, are only still in one piece because they are never-used:

Hurricane glasses from Pat O'Brien's in New Orleans. Except we didn't even get them there. I got them at the Jewish thrift store on Comm. Ave in Allston. I don't know what it's called, or whether it's still there any longer. This was in like 1997, after all. Hey, congrats, Destructo!

Preservation tip #1: never, never, never use things.

This is definitely a Christmas mug; Currier & Ives & all that jazz:

But apparently every other mug in the entire universe makes Irish tea taste like gobshite. God help Destructo the day she gets her hands on this one. (Actually, she already did, a little bit. See that chip out of the bottom? But it foiled her. Curses!)

These (which, yes, used to be four) are getting packed away because they break my heart :

See?

Whimper.

And this? This, I believe, is my oldest possession (if you don't count things I got in the hospital when I was born):

I got it when I was eight or something, because I had a bunch of rabbits which I showed in 4-H fairs. (I was cool when I was little. You are jealous.)

I don't know how old I was when I broke the handle off (my superpowers emerged at a very early age) but I was about fourteen when I noticed what all those cute little cartoon bunnies were doing on my mug:

Foing!