Part of me wishes that Beth had videotaped me looking in the mirror for the first time on Wednesday morning to see half of my front tooth missing. But another part of me is very glad she didn't. My first reaction upon waking up was "Owwww, my arms hurt," followed by "I need to get to work."
Beth wisely said, "I don't think you're going to work today."
Well, two days have passed and after receiving a root canal, I can finally look forward to not looking like I live in a trailer park. That is until Tuesday when I finally get the cap for my front tooth. Until then I've been telling my 4th and 5th grade students that I got in a fight with a bear. All things considered, it could actually be true.
For me, everything after a few swigs of drink is disturbingly blank.
All I know for certain from Trevor is that I spent a while running in circles around a trash can until he abruptly threw it into a neighbor's backyard.
From Vincent I learned that I was apparently functioning by following my body weight as I constantly fell over, turning each fall into a full-fledged sprint in whatever direction my body was leaning.
It seemed somehow, mysteriously, my life had turned into something out of a Judd Apatow movie.
Apparently, after I was dragged home on that fateful night, Beth said to me "You chipped your tooth."
"That's my name!" I replied.
"Your name is Chip?"
"Yeah."
Apart from the obvious I'm still dealing with a puffy lip and a sore leg, but luckily the mild concussion I suspected I had is no longer a fear when I'm going to sleep. In the meantime, I still consider it completely fine for anyone to call me Chip.
