A Burma-Shave-worthy offering from my sister:

"When you're sick
Here's how you know:
Even doctors
Mutter 'Whoa.'"

I learned today what you do not want to hear when you open up your trap for the prosthodontist. What you do not want to hear is one tiny syllable, uttered in a quiet voice and with force:


That noise means there's bone exposed on the backside of what used to be your palate, before your palate was removed by a nice man who resembles a wading bird, and it's exposed because the prosthetic palate that the pleasant prosthodontist fit to your trap has rubbed the flesh away from the bone.

Note that I did not actually feel this happening. I thought the prosthetic was irritating one of my adenoids, or a softer bit of tissue further back in my throat. I was completely unprepared for the


However, the prosthetic now fits like a dream. I no longer sound nasal, my hard k's and esses have improved, and I don't have to rinse the thing every ten minutes to remove built-up spit.

Aside from the whole bone-showing, owie-zowie thing, it's great. With a couple of tiny modifications, this will probably be the palate that I end up wearing from here on out.

I still want glitter, or rainbows, in the final version.