The Late Bloomer

And, lo, there arrived (finally) a tooth. And it was good. Seriously, we were starting to worry. Thirteen months go by and we've got a kid who's walking, pretty verbal, damn smart, dashingly handsome but, but, but he's got no teeth. I was starting to compose talks with Max about his "special" mouth. The talks I would have to give him after his little dentures fell out during recess in front of everyone. The talks where I explain that I love him even though he's a toothless freak.

I don't know about you but some good-lookin' dude starts chatting you up all witty-like at the local watering hole; once you notice he's got no teeth, you're gonna catch the bartender's eye and ask for the check . . pronto. It doesn't matter if the guy's got real golden eyelashes, the man has no teeth!

But now, all of these problems are solved. Hell, even a one-toothed mouth can be explained away with some colorful story-telling about a life on the bear-boxing circuit/spent in the circus/testing toothpastes. . . and wouldn't you like another drink? Barkeep, another Screaming Viking over here, please. And a Highland Park for me, thanks.