Another One Bites the Dust

Last week, I learned that another friend had gotten engaged. In my cubicle, I have a little list of all the friends and sorority sisters who have followed this trend, and when their big day arrives, I put an "M" next to their name. Well, it started as a little list, and now it has turned into a considerably longer list. I've gotten better though--I only hyperventilate for a few minutes when I add another name.

And this morning, I had to jot a new name down. My parents called the other day to let me know that Bubba Cray, son of their best friends in the whole wide world, had finally proposed to his girlfriend of many years. Growing up, Bubba was like the brother I never had. He was two years (but only one grade) older than me, his sister Callie was my age, and when they teamed up with me and my sister we were an unstoppable, destructive force to be reckoned with. Bubba was always a skinny, gangly giant--he would have made an excellent basketball player, had he not been afflicted with the worst clumsiness known to Man (which he has since sort of grown out of). He is maybe seven feet tall, or at least that's what it seems like when I stand next to him in all of my 5'1" glory.

To honor Bubba and his pending nuptials, I shall hereby share my Favorite Bubba Memory:

At what age to kids start to lose their teeth? Six or seven? Okay, well, whatever age that is, subtract a year and that's how old I was when this happened. My sister and I had gone over for a play date at the Cray's house. Mom was downstairs with Mrs. Cray, probably adding more rum to their afternoon cokes as they gabbed about the other yummy mummies at the country club. The neighbors had just gotten a new trampoline, but we weren't allowed to jump on it for fear of broken limbs, necks, and heads. Instead, we determined that the California King (Mr. Cray is also a giant) in the master bedroom would suffice as a trampoline instead. We were taking turns trying to bounce each other off, when WHAM! Like a brick to a sheet of glass, Bubba's be-sneakered foot came in contact with my mouth. HARD. No one moved. I had landed on my back, where I lay stunned for a minute. Slowly, I raised my hand to my face, which felt very warm and gooey. When I pulled my hand away, GAHHHHH!! It was covered in blood, and that was the impetus we all needed to begin screaming like we were being flayed and burned alive.

Mom and Mrs. Cray probably rolled their eyes before abandoning their rum and cokes to come see what the devil was going on. The sight that greeted them couldn't have been pretty...Callie and my sister were crying, Bubba was looking mightily ashamed, and I was just sitting on the bed bleeding all over the nice duvet. I was immediately yanked into the bathroom, where my stained shirt was pulled off, doused under water, and used to start wiping the gore from my face. When Mom had finally cleaned me off (looking back, I think I just would have stuck me under the shower) she broke the news to me: Margo, she said, you've lost all of your teeth.

Slowly, with horrific images of my grandfather's dentures swimming through my head, I turned to the mirror and first took stock of my other features--blue eyes still there? check. Ski jump-shaped nose? check. Bangs and short brown bowl-cut? check. Teeth? ummmmm no. None. Nada. At least, not in the front. Bubba's foot had landed precisely so that eight of my teeth (four on the top and four on the bottom) were knocked clean out. My eyes welled with tears, and that was the moment Mrs. Cray chose to exclaim that she had found one of my incisors still embedded in the bottom of Bubba's sneaker. I cried then. For a long time.

And so, friends, that is the story of why I looked like a gummy geriatric throughout elementary school, had a lisp for years, and couldn't eat corn on the cob for the next bajillion decades (my grown-up teeth took their damn sweet time in deciding when to grow in, those ho-bags). And it's my Favorite Bubba Story. I didn't hold the injury against him (though you can BET that I will bring it up if there is a lot of wine and an open mic at his reception). We went on to play almost every day together at the pool. He was one of my first crushes at the tender age of 10 (though that may have been because my fifth grade class was definitely lacking in the Hot Boys department and I was desperate at sleepovers for someone, anyone to list when we played MASH). In high school, we were on the same sports team, and I even dated one of his good friends for a while. And yes, my teeth eventually grew in, were reigned into braces for two years, and now are pretty perfect, if I do say so myself.

So cheers, Bubba, on your upcoming marriage! I raise my glass to you and wish you both nothing but the best. Just please, please remember to take off your sneakers before you get in bed.