In these endless days of Covid-19 self-isolation, it is important to find ways to smile and laugh. More than just by making fun of politicians, though; that rabbit hole seems to get stinkier by the minute. It’s still funny stuff, but definitely doesn’t lift the spirits.

And so, I turn to podcasts.

Here’s a new one I “discovered” a few days ago:

In a nutshell (emphasis on nut), this comedic duo plays two elderly New Yorkers who are on a quest to discover where famous people were when they found out Princess Diana died.

The old geezers love the People’s Princess. They also like to talk more than they like to listen. Something about the geriatric rudeness this produces tickles me no end.

Now that the question has been posed, I’ve been reflecting back on August 31, 1997, when I heard the horrible news.

But first, let’s step back one additional day. I was on my way to see my dentist.

After years of on-and-off pain behind the molar area, I feared my wisdom teeth needed some attention.

The dentist agreed.

Little did I dream, though, we would recreate this scene from Rudolph:

That’s right, my dentist deferred removal of three of my wisdom teeth to the future, but couldn’t resist yanking out the most problematic one on the spot.

Speaking of problematic, my (former) dentist was a nervous talker. As in: He never came up for air. It was annoying, yet amazing. It gave me something to concentrate on at first.

Because there was no modern pain relief available on such short notice, just a shot of Novocaine would have to do. That, and dental pliers.

“Well, let’s see if we can get this sucker out it’s a big one but I think I can get a hold of it and yank with all my might and then we’ll have one tooth out and just three to go some other time if you trust me after this because I know it’s no fun get a wisdom tooth pulled on a Friday afternoon I bet you had plans tonight and now you’re saying to yourself ‘well thanks a lot for ruining my plans with this dental procedure’ you’ll never want to come back here to see me again at least not on a Friday afternoon …”

You got that right!

It got so bad, the dentist actually braced a knee up against the armrest of the dental chair (I moved my arm to make room).

After at least half an hour and a series of uncomely grunts (on the part of the dentist), there was a loud CRACK!

Praise God from whom all blessings flow. It was over!

“Well we’re doing great here it looks like we got half out so that means we’re halfway home and I bet you don’t want to see half a wisdom tooth so I’ll just put it over here and we’ll take a look in your mouth and start digging the other half of the tooth out boy I need to start working out more so I’m ready to extract a wisdom tooth without wearing myself out and I bet you’re thinking we should have sent you to an oral surgeon who would have given you some of that magic gas and let you sleep through this experience but we’re almost done I just need to grab the other half and yank it out by its roots …”

I told Gary later that it took every bit of self control I had not to grab the dentist’s wrist and slobber-spew from my Novocaine-numbed mouth: “Shut. The. F***. Up!”

By the time the rest of the tooth came clean, there was a different character from Rudolph on my mind.

After reviewing the “Now What?” pamphlet detailing how to avoid root rot (no, wait – it’s called “dry socket” and it filled me with fear), I picked up the prescribed pain medicine and headed home.

Saturday was a haze of gargling with warm salt water and re-reviewing the How Not to Get Dry Socket paperwork.

As I drifted off to sleep that night, oldest son Tom woke me with the sad news: “Mom, I thought you’d want to know. Princess Diana just died.”

As an old news hound and a longtime Anglophile, I was glad he woke me up. I sat on the couch all night (except for the occasional warm-salt-water gargle) and sniffled through my sadness.

My grief was focused on those poor boys, William and Harry. Their mum was such a ray of sunshine in their lives. But all that was over now. The only parent left was, as Gary still calls him, Prince Frog Face.

The lads struggled through the rest of their teen years and have done their mother proud.

Meanwhile, I found a new dentist closer to home who knows when to call the oral surgeon. And when to put a period at the end of a sentence.

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