Wouldn't you know it, as I headed down the street back home from the grocery store on the eve of the big holiday weekend, one of my crowns popped out of my mouth, bounced off my knee, and sprang into the inky depths beyond!
A thousand bucks down the drain?
As luck would have it, "Happy Hour" was upon us, so all the muscled studs in festive Boys town were heading out to the local watering holes to toss down a few.
And yes, there I was - the total fool - crawling around on hands and bare knees (no nasty jokes, please!) widely-scanning the terrain for the well-crafted elusive dental appliance.
Yeah, I used to have a gap between my two front teeth like top fashion model - Lauren Hutton - until Dr. Newman (no kidding, that was my dentist's name) fitted a glittering set of natural-looking crowns front-row-and-center.
Great workmanship, they don't even look like chicklets.
The secret, the dentist whispered in my ear, was in the backing.
Because a cheap or poorly-conceived alloy on the reverse is capable of distorting the natural light as it passes through the porcelain, the crown may end up smacking of a phony a mile away.
But, getting back to my sad tale!
As a few hotties scurried by - and guffawed under their breath - I frantically tried to locate the little sucker.
Then, a knight in shining armour happened along, in the form of a concerned resident who lived in the neighborhood.
When I explained my predicament, he not only displayed a lot of sympathy, but pitched in to help!
To passers-by - now there appeared to be two lost souls scrounging around on the pavement - for no good reason.
At one juncture - it was evident to both of us - there wasn't enough street light to facilitate the task.
But, the good-natured dude turned out to be resourceful, as well.
He snatched up his cell phone from its resting place on his belt, flipped it open smartly, then shone the eerie blue light onto the pavement improving the circumstances somewhat.
"Just how far could a crown bounce," I wondered aloud.
Now, he put his thinking cap on.
Turns out, a handful of buddies worked in "A Different Light" bookstore, so he darted inside to locate a flashlight.
Yes, as Bette Midler would croon, 'ya got to have friends!
The long and short of it?
The scamp was spied just off the curb under the front end of a late model sedan about to pull into bustling city traffic.
Whew!
When I complimented the good Samaritan, he turned beet red!
"I'm blushing," he stammered self-consciously, as his male friend gave him a huge bear-sized hug.
I headed out the door, elated.
I toyed with the idea of popping in to a drugstore - to buy some denture cream to affix the crown to the chiseled pin protruding from my jaw - but figured I'd just leave the trouble-maker tightly wrapped in a handkerchief to avoid mishaps the rest of the evening.
Then, I encountered a new dilemma out-of-the blue, as I sashayed down the strip.
It seemed that everywhere I turned - as sensual balmy breezes pulled me this way 'n that under the night's mysterious cloak - potential hook-ups starting materializing out of the woodwork to put the make on me!
Must be the "humping" law, eh?
Go out on Safari for quick nookie, 'ya get nary a nibble.
Show up looking like you've been hit by a mack truck, and the babes are all over you, like a condom on prom night.
One major problemo!
If I sidled by to chat - I'd no doubt shock the bejesus out of 'em - when they caught sight of the ghastly menacing gap beckoning from the caverns of my not-so-sexy or very effervescent Pepsodent mouth.
Don't suppose you'd like a chain saw bearing down on your *!@%*+!
But, a couple of suitors were persistent.
Consequently, I found myself glancing down a lot, to hide my mouth.
The hopeful ones fantasized I was checking out their bods, I guess.
Sex therapists have noted (by the way) that when two flirts engage in an encounter - the first one to glance away - is allegedly the dominant one.
Or maybe, the anxious Lotharios mistook the body language for shyness?
Heck, you know what they say about the quiet ones.
Wild in-between the sheets!
Did anyone suspect?
Obviously, not the stunner I ended up in the sack with.
Next time we hook up, as "Ricky" on "The Lucy Show" would say,
"I've got some 'splainin' to do."
Unless, the ardent lover thought I was just two sheets to-the-wind.
Ah, yes!
Typical horn dog sex theatrics on a party night in West Hollywood, fer sure.
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