"Operation...you're the doctor! Operation...you're the doctor...collecting all your pay!"

In my never-ending quest to be a real looker, I sometimes have to sleep with one of those clear plastic mouthpieces. I'm a world-class teeth-grinder/jaw-clencher/crown-breaker who likes to drive her husband wild making sucking sounds through a plastic mound of hotness.

So last night, on the verge of a major headache, I popped it in and slurped off to dreamland. I awoke in the night to a horrifying feeling. The feeling of a rough little tongue slapping my nose. The feeling of a wet little nose bracing itself against my cheek, trying to drag out my mouth-guard.

Ew.

I jumped three feet in the air and Wigglepuppy ran off, her thievery thwarted. After rinsing and retiring the mouthpiece for the rest of night, I got to thinking: was my squeal the equivalent of Cavity Sam's buzzing red nose? Am I the marauding dachshund's answer to an Operation game? If my funny bone goes missing, I'll let you know.