Whenever I, as a weak human being of a certain age, selfishly surrender to angoisse métaphysique, I react, in self-defense, instinctively, to dentistry (no, not destiny). With our small planet infected with ebola, ISIS-crazies, American domestic violence -- you name your favorite catastrophe -- I console myself with the thought that I have a good, reliable dentist.
Fifty years ago, I probably would not have any teeth left. Now, thanks to scientific advances and my dear dentist, I -- as you can discern, a faithful member of the selfish "me-first" generation -- have most of my teeth in my mouth (including a "new" one made possible -- granted, at an exhorbitant price) via an implant.
Is there not such a thing, after all, as progress (for the lucky ones), thanks to modern dentistry? Count your me-first blessings (or should I say molars?)
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