After 36 consecutive waking hours spent watching episodes of Warehouse 13, I asked Gary if he ever felt bad wasting his weekends. Perhaps he might feel better if he made lunch, like I did, or did the taxes, like I did, or even loaded the dishwasher, or ....
Of course he reminded me it was his birthday month (frankly, undistinguishable from all other months now). Then, he said, "Watch this!" and snapped in his Invisiline braces.
"I'm doing that!" he said. "Every minute I have my braces in I'm working on my teeth."
His teeth are straightening out quite nicely, but it is making him tooth-proud. A few months ago we were eating out and he gasped.
"What is wrong with your tooth?"
"What tooth?" I ran my tongue over my teeth. They were all there.
"Your front tooth is chipped!"
"Well, yes, it's been chipped for years. Ever since I wore that TMJ tooth thing for a year. Part of my tooth broke off in it."
"And you never got it fixed?"
"Well, it's just a little chip."
"A little chip! You look like Honey Boo-boo's mom."
This was harsh, and he immediately took it back. He also took it back in front of everyone else we saw that day because I made sure everyone knew the extent of his evil.
Later he claimed that he was just particularly sensitive to teeth since he is suffering so much to have his teeth straight. (Not for vanity, he's doing it so his teeth stop shifting and cracking.)
I mentioned this past week I have a dental appointment Monday morning.
"OH!" he said, "To have your tooth fixed?"
Well, no, doofus, to have a cleaning, but since I am so snaggle-toothed I guess I'll check in to it.