It wasn’t long after O.J. Simpson’s book If I Did It was released that I wasted an entire day of my life by reading it.  There have only been two books (both incomplete, however) that I’ve bothered to read by way of downloading as a PDF document and scrolling endlessly.  The first, If I Did It, the second, Midnight Sun (a.k.a. Twilight ala Edward).  Guilty pleasures so guilty that I couldn’t even bring myself to print them.

For those of you who either a.) have been living in a wormhole or b.) aren’t a champion deduction artist, O.J.’s book is about the murders and what maybe, might have, but you know, didn’t REALLY happen, if he had, in fact, done it.  Which he didn’t.  (So many commas!  And that’s not even because I love commas!  It’s because the book is really that bad!)

Okay, so.

The school district where I work has policies, right?  Of course they do.  School districts love to make policies.  It’s their favorite thing in the world.  One of these policies that our school district has is that we should not pull loose teeth out of children’s mouths.  That’s a good policy that I totally agree with and would never ever break.

But, you know. If I did, ahem, break that policy, which I did not, this is how I would have done it.  Twice in one day.  Much like O.J. would have done it.

On this theoretical day that didn’t happen, a kid, a tough kid, would have walked into the office.  He would have said, “Miss, my mouth is bleeding.”

If I had a problem with this policy, which I do not, the problem would be that sometimes, a tooth just needs to be pulled.  Not because of desire to bring the Tooth Fairy to their pillows one day sooner, or because 2 or 3 hours is going to make a difference in the formation of a child’s jaw.  Because it wouldn’t.  The times when a loose tooth could become problem would be when the kids have messed with said loose tooth until it’s hanging on by just a thread.  Just a little teeny bit of gummy flesh attached to the corner of a tooth’s root, flapping around like a pantry door on a hinge.  And do you know what pantry doors of flesh flapping about in your mouth cause?  Bleeding.  Lots and lots of bleeding.  With every single flick of the student’s tongue, the blood clots are swept away, causing the oozing to start all over again.

So, when Tough Kid didn’t wander into the nurse’s office, I didn’t put on a glove.  Then I didn’t look him in the eye and say, “Who pulled your tooth?” And he didn’t say back to me, “I did.”  Then I didn’t pull his tooth. Then I didn’t look him in the eye again and say, “Tell me again, who just pulled your tooth?” And he didn’t, again, reply, “I did.”

But if I had done it, Booyah, you know?

Then, because theoretical nothings never happen just once, less than an hour later, another (decidedly-less tough) kid would have wandered into the nurse’s office.  Less-Tough-Kid also would have a mouth full of blood.  But if this had happened, the looseness of this tooth would be less obvious.  Yes, there would have been blood everywhere–caked around the lips of the child like chocolate cake on the face of a toddler.  That’s when I didn’t ask the kid to wiggle his tooth for me.  And he didn’t comply.  And it wasn’t really, really loose.  Then I didn’t put on another set of gloves.  And I didn’t say, “Who pulled this tooth?” And he didn’t look at me and say, “What?” And I didn’t give him a look like, “I’m clearly not allowed to do this.” And he didn’t say, “OH. RIGHT.  ME. I pulled it.” And I didn’t say, “Good.  Open up.”  Then I surely did not remove a second tooth from a second mouth that day.

But If I had done it, Booyah.  Again.