In a post the other day, I was blathering on about modifications I would make to the development processes children go through on their terrifyingly rapid trip to to adulthood, mentioning how handy a pause button would be and that I’d be happy for a rewind option.
For a little lighter fare today … since my moods and circumstances have been all heavy and glum lately, and because it’s Saturday and I need a break … I thought I’d offer up some thoughts on another annoying miscalculation in the blueprint of little humans: teeth.
Whose idea was it to give little kids teeth?
Just think of the idiocy of this plan …
Take a pumpkin-headed, noodle-necked, stumble-footed creature, wrap it in tender, fragile tissue; then stick a few razor-sharp protuberances right in the middle of a pulpy mass of surface blood vessels that scars easily, hurts like mad and takes ages to heal. It’s a recipe for disaster! Or at the very least, for sliced lips and a perforated tongue.
I mean, really! What the heck do little kids need teeth for, anyway? When was the last time you tossed your 18-month-old a raw T-bone and told him to go to town? And hasn’t anyone heard of appleSAUCE?
And what about keeping those pearly whites white? It’s easier to clean the molars on my Rottweiler than it is to brush a baby’s teeth properly … and if you don’t do it properly you’re a rotten parent and your kid will have rotten teeth that won’t fall out until they’re well into school so everyone will know just how you badly you neglected your duty to the poor child.
Wouldn’t it make more sense for the chompers to stay nice and clean and safe inside the gums until a kid is old enough to get the fact that toothpaste doesn’t come with a skull and crossbones on the tube and that keeping the mouth open for more than 30 seconds is not a punishment equal to the Chinese Water Torture, no dessert, kissing smelly old Uncle Leo, or all of the above?
Teeth in little kids are a design flaw, pure and simple, and someone should step up, claim the fault and make sure that from now on they don’t appear until walking is an accomplished feat and a hankering for corn on the cob presents itself.
A collection of my short stories:
I'm in this one, too ...
And I'm in here, as well ...
Paradise Preoccupied 