The Latest Indignity

There are forebodings—and there are forebodings. I am forebodeful, for instance, of the Peanut Reign,* of not getting my skis parallel in front of Bill, of someday, somewhere, having to give a speech. But everything is relative: when you face up to some things (Bill doesn’t really slug me if I do a teentsie stem), they may not be so bad as you’d foreboded; but then, again, they pretty-damn-well may.

There must be natives in Darkest Africa* who have never known the sickening feeling of having the dentist return yet once again to a certain tooth, to pick . . . to probe . . . to go on, and . . . to return. Darkest Africa begins to sound attractive. So when your friendly dentist suggests, his tone carefully, studiedly reassuring, that perhaps you should see a periodontist—that’s it. Sweat-making. The end.

JS

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Jane Buckley Smith

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There are forebodings—and there are forebodings. I am forebodeful, for instance, of the Peanut Reign,* of not getting my skis parallel in front of Bill, of someday, somewhere, having to give a speech. But everything is relative: when you face up to some things (Bill doesn’t really slug me if I do a teentsie stem), they may not be so bad as you’d foreboded; but then, again, they pretty-damn-well may.

There must be natives in Darkest Africa* who have never known the sickening feeling of having the dentist return yet once again to a certain tooth, to pick . . . to probe . . . to go on, and . . . to return. Darkest Africa begins to sound attractive. So when your friendly dentist suggests, his tone carefully, studiedly reassuring, that perhaps you should see a periodontist—that’s it. Sweat-making. The end.