My tooth.  My only wisdom tooth.  She's gone.

I know, I can hear you.  "Only one?  You mean you only had one?  You must not be very wise, then."

To you I say, if this is what it took to bring you to that conclusion, then I must come across as very wise indeed.

Here's the replay of the thoughts in my head during the procedure:
I sure hope this doesn't hurt too much.  Oh, "You're the Inspiration", that's a good song.  Haven't heard that one in a long time.  I probably should have had some breakfast before this, I wonder if I'll be able to eat today.  I wonder if it was optimistic to bring the grocery list.  I hope not, we don't have anything to eat.  I wonder how they do this, I probably should have asked.  I sure hope there's no chisel like the description dad gave me of his wisdom tooth extraction.  Oh sh*t.  I wonder if I should have told them that I have thrombophelia.  I wonder if that matters.  I should have told them BEFORE they gave me shots, that's for sure.

Then, after some wrenching on my cheeks and lips, a pliers (or something) in my mouth, and a little suction... the tooth was gone.  It didn't even hurt, except for the shot and wrenching on my cheeks and lips.

However, my mouth is packed with cotton which means that I can't go to the grocery store AND it is freaking out the kids.  I certainly can't work in this state.  Since I can't really eat much until tomorrow, I think I have no choice but to nap.