I get to get a new appliance! Soon the sounds of my teeth-grinding, which Ben likens to popcorn popping or ice cracking, will not sully the night air. I have to get a custom-made device, for 500 clams, to wear to bed. Eh, I didn't want an ipod or a trip to the mainland for spring break anyway. I'd much rather my teeth not be worn down to nubs by age 40, which is the other option.
Will I EVER use this to write about things of consequence, or at least interest to anyone but my hypochondriac self? Tune in and see!
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