I stumbled out of the Procrastinators' Guild meeting late last night. It was Flying Monkey night, and we were mixing Mike's Hard Lemonade with Jim Beam. I don't remember how it tasted, but I think a good time was had by all. This morning, I awoke with my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. I mean, it was stuck good. I tried to peel it off, but it felt like a hedgehog was being ripped from my palate. I padded to the bathroom, sleep bubbles still popping around my head, and took a sip of water. That seemed to help, and I snuggled back in until the next snooze alarm fired (the best sleep of the night is in those 9-minute chunks). I awoke again, and this time I experienced a distinct chalky presence in my mouth, which wasn't there when I lay down. I took an inventory, and came up blank. It occurred to me: this must be tooth powder. I've been a gnasher ever since I learned to pay bills. My dentist has tried to outfit me with a variety of contraptions to keep my enamel intact, but none have been tolerable. I'd rather settle for pre-chewed food in my old age than spend the night with a drool-producing wad of chewy plastic. My Great Grandpa got his teeth kicked out by a mule when he was 15, and made it all the way to 88 without a problem. I figure I've more than doubled my toothlife; compared to him, I'm making out like a bandit. Today I'm trying to take it easy on my teeth. Nothing but soft, clear water and a nice, cushy sammich for lunch. Well, chips are a necessity. One must have the RDA of the Crunchy food group. And I may chew up some cracked ice from tonight's bourbon. But that doesn't count, because I only chew ice when I drink.