A story of grit.
"Five years ago, I chipped my tooth on a Twizzler.
It was Halloween, and like Valentine’s and Easter, I was on an all-you-can-eat bender.
Putting in late-night reps on a pack of licorice, I stretch each piece between my front teeth, gnawing off chunk after chunk. Everything is routine until I feel something inside my strawberry paste. It’s grainy. It’s rough. It doesn’t belong.
With wild, sugared eyes, I make the exec decision to swallow the pearly grit.
Out of an abundance of caution, I perform an oral safety check. Slowly, I run my tongue along my upper deck. That’s when I encounter a disturbance.
My front tooth feels like a crumpled piece of aluminum."
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