I've been cursed

Let's rewind six years:
I was merely a teenager that refused to believe "mothers know best". So, when my Mom told me not to go out with all of my friends the night before we left for Mexico, what did I do? Naturally, I went out with all of the boys. A mother's intuition is far more trustworthy than my own selfish desires. However, as a teenager, listening to my Mom was the last thing I ever wanted to do. But of course, as the events of the evening unfolded, I instantly wished that I would have listened to my Mom for a change. Going home with a knocked out tooth wasn't my ideal way to end the evening. To make matters even better...no, worse, the dentist was out of the office the next day, and my tooth couldn't get fixed before I had to board the plane for Mexico. My family joked that I'd fit in with the Mexican's with a missing tooth. I didn't see any humor in that.

Let's fast forward six years to the present:
Ever since getting my tooth knocked out, I have a fear it will happen again. Every time I walk up and down the stairs, I think to myself, "I better not trip, or I'll fall and hit my teeth and they'll all fall out." Without fail, that is my thought process every time I put my first foot on the step. I can't count how many times I've frantically woken up to feeling my teeth to make sure they're all intact. My worst nightmare is that my tooth will somehow fall out again. Well, funny that as I sat on my bed yesterday afternoon, talking to my Mom, my worst nightmare came true. I'd be lying if I said this time I found it humorous. Looking in the mirror only caused the tears to become more and more uncontrollable...I looked like one of those freaky witches that haunt you in the movies. I was a mess. Thank goodness for dentist, but I've had my fill of them for the year. From a cleaning, to surgery, to a tooth falling out in the course of three weeks, what more do I have to endure? Let the humor begin.