There were six kids in our family and as children we all learned early that our siblings’ misfortunes were fair game for ridicule: Broken bones, bad report cards, tragic haircuts and unrequited love were all fair game for mockery. This behavior has carried over into adult life so when my older sister broke her bridge at Sunday dinner the rest of us saw no need for restraint. Astonished, she opened her mouth displaying a huge gap where, until recently, her two front teeth had been. We were instantly convulsed with laughter.
“Now’s the time to try out for the lead in “Lil Abner,” said my middle sister, gasping with laughter. “Ready for that excursion to Mississippi?” I asked, when I could catch my breath. “Ask her what she wants for Christmas,” said my younger brother, who was banging the table so hard while he laughed that he threatened to break the glass top. My partner, who was raised with only one brother in a polite, WASPy home, was horrified and shot me his “How could you?” look.
My older sister was not amused. She folded her arms and glared at us. “I’m glad you find humor in my pain,” she said with dignity and, ashamed, we tried to compose ourselves. She examined the pieces of the broken bridge. “Do you think it can be thaved?” she asked, and clasped both hands over her mouth. “Oh my God,” she said, “do I have a lithp?”
Now we were really laughing and making no attempt to hold back. “I’m happy to entertain you,” said my older sister, “but I don’t find thith amuthing.”
“It’s only a little lithp,” said my middle sister, wiping her eyes. “I thtill underthtand you perfectly,” said my brother, banging the table again. “No one will notith it,” I said and now even my partner chimed in: “Theriouthly,” he said.
“Et tu, Brututh?” said my sister.
The next morning my sister went to the dentist who installed a temporary bridge until the permanent one was ready. Since my sister and I work together I was the first to see the dentist’s handiwork. “What do you think?” she asked anxiously, smiling wide. I gasped. Her temporary teeth were about four sizes too big and whiter than the whitest white I had ever seen. “Oh no,” I said helplessly, laughing again. “Oh no, oh no, oh no.”
“What?” she asked.
“You have teeth like Barney the dinosaur,” I said and dragged her into the break room where there is a mirror on the wall. “Look,” I ordered.
She looked and clasped her hands over her mouth again. “ Oh my god,” she said, What a meth!!” She looked again.
“I thought it wath thuthpithious when they wouldn’t let me look at mythelf in a mirror.”
“It’s not that bad,” I said loyally, “just don’t smile.” Obediently she tried to close her lips which is when she discovered they would not close: a good quarter inch of teeth was still exposed.
Now, for the first time she was mad. “I’m really pithed,” she said, ignoring my laughter. “I’m going to thue that dentitht. Thith ith malpractith.”
“It’s what?” I asked.
“Malpractith,” she said.
It took almost three weeks for the new bridge to arrive, and my sister was a good sport about the constant jokes while managing to eliminate words with the letter “s” from her vocabulary. It was another Sunday dinner when she showed off her new teeth to the family, and we had to admit they were beautiful.
“All’s well that ends well,” she said, ladling gravy onto her mashed potatoes. “But I want you to know that I did not appreciate how you all made sport of my misfortune.” She paused and looked around the table to see if her words were sinking in. They weren’t. “In the future,” she continued, “I would tha…” she was all set to say more but, impossibly, her new bridge fell out, landing with a surprisingly large splash in the gravy boat.
Eyes wide we were all too stunned to even laugh.
She clasped both hands over her mouth. “Excuthe me,” she said.