Last night I dreamt that the teacher who I'm subbing for came back to teach his class for a few hours, so I went to a dentist appointment—y'know, a regular cleaning. The dentist noticed that one of my teeth was loose and told me he would have to pull it out. "Can't I come back and do that later?" I asked. "I've gotta get back to my classroom in an hour."
"Oh, this won't take long," the dentist assured me as he closed in with the pincers. "You'll be back to class in no time." He ripped one of my premolars out.
It was excruciating! My mouth filled with blood, and I looked I'm the mirror. My face had swelled up in response to the trauma and was puffy, pale, and bruised. "I can't go back to my classes looking like this!" I thought, but couldn't say.
"Whulp, looks like some more are coming loose," said the hygienist, and they were! The dentist couldn't pull them as fast as they were coming out, and then I woke up and frantically counted my teeth.
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