We spent probably the better part of an hour travelling to the nearest available portrait studio in proximity to grandpa’s home before we finally arrived at our destination. When it was time for us to get out of the car, grandpa informed me he had somehow (unexpectedly) forgotten his teeth once again, and insisted he didn’t want to entertain the very thought that what could, any day soon become permanently known as his final family portrait be allowed to ever be captured on film, if he wasn’t appearing to be wearing only his very finest available smile. And so, without any attempt to begin to argue that it was such a very long drive to have to make simply in one direction, and with no further adieu, I promptly did most unselfishly bite my lip as we made our way slowly back to grandpa’s place in the country.
Just for the sake of making a longer story shorter, after searching all about grandpa’s house in a most feverish attempt to finally solve the mystery regarding the exact whereabouts of those very missing teeth, he yelled out I found them. You probably aren’t going to believe this next part of my story, as ever impossibly improbable of an actual real life occurrence I did indeed witness with my very own eyes. Just looky here, he said while pointing into the toilet. Right exactly where I left them in the first place. Then as he leaned down slowly in order to be able to retrieve them, with his hand resting upon the handle of the commode…
Yep, you probably guessed it already. He flushed his teeth right down the very drain. I had to place an emergency call to the nearest available plumber somewhere outside of my grandpa’s homestead. Which was already so obviously most conveniently located right smack dab in the very middle of no other possibly available place for him to choose to have made the decision to purchase and to own a permanent home, anywhere else upon any given map, other than Bumfuck, Timbuktu itself. (more, possibly later)
My very own little golden book for adults. 