Turns out that my cavities numbered sixteen, roughly the number of teeth in a human head. I also needed bridges, which would cost a week's pay because no one understands what they are.

For these reasons, I decided to do the work in Mexico, where the peso is weak and dentists don't have to fuss with things like diplomas.

Kidding.

The real reason is that Mexican dentists don't have to finance the BMWs of accident attorneys. When Mexicans get burned by coffee, the others just laugh and go back to sleep.

I was happy with my savings until I got home and opened the pharmacist's bag. Instead of providing pain medication for my gums, they gave me what appeared to be -- and yuck, were -- anal suppositories. For my sensitive...?

Evidently, penmanship is an international problem for doctors. It must have something to do with post-graduate information squeezing out more basic functions like adding space between letters.

Or maybe the anal suppositories were prescribed by the dentist as a clever comment on the cost of dentistry in general ... Yo no se.

Last night I wore pajamas to the movies. My wife triple-dog-dared me, and when you're as juvenile as I am, that's all it takes. Would you know that I loved every minute? Not only were my loins well-ventilated, but I felt so ... Kurt Cobain.

The funny thing is that no one seemed to notice. They didn't stare at my drawstrings or wonder if I were homeless. I was just a guy who felt very strongly about comfort in the theater. Or maybe everyone is so used to seeing people's underwear that pajamas look dressy.

Anyway, I'm thinking about bringing a pillow next time. And maybe, just maybe, I can prevail upon my wife to wear her nightie.