Pudding is the highlight of pulled teeth, the only joy after baking
under a reptile lamp for hours wishing she could fall asleep and
drooling as if at home. Friends promised narcotics and Jell-O.
Dentist says, “No one dies from this, you know? Take it easy.
It’ll pass.” She must be Kermit green, must not look like roses.
Nothing but vague ah huh, eh huh until head shaking spoils the
game like turning the board, but all is better with no-bake pudding.
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