A family in Northern New Jersey has suffered the cracking of not one, but two valuable crowns, made of the finest porcelain a few hundred dollars can buy, this past week. Dentists in the region are proclaiming their innocence, yet also absolving the two princesses of any guilt in the matters. Each sister has visited her respective practitioner and are assured that life will go on as normal and bells are ringing throughout the land! (For anyone with a Jersey prejudice who is scoffing: They are, too! You don’t know!) Porcelain crowns are pretty (you get to pick just which degree of yellowy-white matches the rest of your teeth), durable (molded porcelain held up by a metal post), and permanent (unless, of course, they aren’t. In which case, they are not.) My sister and I have both recently (in the past year or so) had crowns…er…installed(?), applied(?) put on(?!). It sucks, and it is expensive. My procedure was particularly trying, as the mold had to be done three times because I’m ever more of a spaz when I’m miserable, and having that purple gunk in my mouth in addition to all the other accoutrements, appliances and attachments arranged around my face was indeed making me miserable. But, you know, once and done, at least that’s over, yadda yadda, right? Not so much in my case. Last Tuesday evening, when the sound that rocked my eardrums occurred, I chalked it up to “things that happen in ONLY my life” until it happened to my sister a few days later. She lives an hour away from me, with a completely different dentist, and this just coincidentally happened to her, too. So, I went to the dentist today, two DMDs had a look, and were quite surprised that it cracked so cleanly (although a million little shards were in my napkin along with the cookie I was eating), leaving no jagged edges, just a perfect half of a crown behind. My tooth is exactly half-covered in royal yellow-y crown-dom, and the other half is oddly silvery-blackish and a bit lower. I’m very talented when it comes to things that no one wants to happen/should not exist in the realm of possibility. I know, it’s a curse, but it’s part of my charm.