The Object got his wisdom teeth out yesterday. On the way to the maxillofacial surgeon, he was uncharacteristically anxious, having never been under general anesthesia before. He woke up from surgery groggy, disoriented, and looking not unlike John McCain. As the nurse gave me instructions on how to take care of him, the Object intermittently drooled and napped. When he got up, his steps were shakier than a newborn fawn, and I started to get a little worried. But as we passed by the surgeons office, the Object fired Shooter McGavin hands and drawled in a Bugs Bunny voice, "Thanksh Doc!" Later, he crowed about how proud he was that he "shooted Shooter McShooter handsh at the dentish."
I think he'll be just fine.