Mouth Crank

Luca is objectively beautiful. Sometimes his face just stuns me. Beautiful eyes. Beautiful hair. Beautiful nose. And a mouth that looks like a broken bottle filled with jigsaw pieces.

He is a little challenged in the toof area. So we’ve entered the lucrative world of mouth fixing. Luca’s nice Orthodontist, who clearly drives a Tesla, recommended he get a mouth expander. To…uh…expand his mouth? It’s this metal monstrosity attached to the roof of his mouth that extends across his mouth like a robotic spider. It was invented by an evil 4^th Century Duke for use in his dungeon.

For a few days after the installation, Luca couldn’t swallow anything solid. It just felt too weird. He subsisted on nothing but lemonade and yogurt. I assume we’ll shortly be entering the lucrative world of diabetes.

The mouth expander requires nightly cranking. There is a tiny hole in the center the size of a pinhole. You insert an uncoiled medical paperclip into it and then crank the thing towards the back of Luca’s mouth. You have to be careful not to drop the medical paperclip into his throat, killing him. You also have to avoid missing the hole and piercing the roof of his mouth, also killing him.

Diana abstains from the procedure because her eyesight is Mr. Magoo at best. My 46 year old eyes are no treat either, but I’m the best of two terrible options.

Our system is as follows:

I completely forget to crank his mouth until Luca is supposed to be in bed. Thankfully, Luca never, ever goes to bed on time. After some panicked yelling, Luca assumes the position on our couch, under a lamp.

I don this magnifying glass/flashlight apparatus Diana bought to read with but abandoned because she would rather be blind than wear something so ridiculous. Luca opens his mouth and I grab the medical paperclip and peer into the horror that is Luca’s mouth. Luca is not what we would call an enthusiastic tooth brusher. So, his mouth looks a lot like Yoda’s planet Dagobah.

In researching the spelling of “Dagobah,” I just fell down a long rabbit hole called “How Long Did Luke Skywalker Train on Dagobah?”

Okay I’m back. I poke the medical paperclip into the tiny hole, usually regretting the 2 glasses of wine I just drank. And then crank the sucker, which makes Luca gag. I fully expect to get barfed on one of these days.

But crank we do, and it seems to be doing…something? Nothing? Paying for a Tesla? If nothing else, it’s a little bit of gross father/son time.