You're a Better Man Than I Am, St. Apollonia

I'm fine! I'm just fine. Thank you for your concern!

I haven't been able to answer any questions because I am too stupid. Hopefully, it's just temporary.

Here's what happened. We were invited to dinner by a couple of the Ladies of Charity. We love they're company, so dinner...well, let's just say that we felt guilty accepting since it's Lent.

I shouldn't have worried my habited little head about that! My opportunity to suffer was just around the corner.

We were having a lovely time. Mrs. Gott put out a bowl of garlic flavored pretzels. Now, one the one hand, I shouldn't be eating 'extras' during Lent, but I didn't want to be rude and I don't really love pretzels. These were little hard pretzel rectangles, shaped like little pretzel loaves of bread. To be polite, I took two of the little guys. I held one in my hand. I popped one in my mouth.

As soon as I bit down on the pretzel, the tooth behind my eye tooth broke in half. I can tell you that Alice Kramden is living comfortably on the moon after being socked up there by her husband Ralph, because the pain that shot up into my head sent me straight up there.

I pretended nothing had happened. I couldn't figure out what to do with the pretzel in my hand. In my pain induced thought process, I considered slipping it between the couch cushions. It's not like I haven't done that type of thing in the past.

Eventually, in the midst of offering up my suffering to the Poor Souls in Purgatory, I ate the second pretzel.

I have since confessed the lie I told when I could barley touch my dinner, that I had eaten too many pretzels and spoiled my appetite. I didn't want to spoil everyone's good time.

After that, I had a long period of opportunity of which I took full advantage, to align myself with the Suffering of Jesus. I had too full a schedule to stop for the dentist. After I did see the dentist, he had too full a schedule to work on me.

And now, the pills they are having me take to help the hole and the stitches heal are making me stupid. Goofy. Wacky. Wackadoodle. Heaven knows what type of half baked answer I might give to a serious question. Some hard garlic pretzel of an answer, no doubt.

I'm sure I'll be back to normal soon.

I did think a lot, while I was in the chair with all the disconcerting noises, how grateful I am to live now when I can be shot full of Novocaine and have such violence occur to my head. I have always had a great appreciation of the sad story of St. Apollonia. If I met her today I would say to her, "You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din."

I say that to quite a few people, whether they're men or not.