hinge ovenbird You have come to expect your jaw to do its job--the hinge moving the saw blades of your teeth functions just well enough to hack your meals into manageable pieces; mandibles make a snug cave for your tongue to sleep in. So it comes as a shock when you sink incisors into the soft exterior of a freshly barbecued sausage, hear a perturbing pop, and discover your molars no longer meet. You are troubled further when you find that your brain no longer has access to the neuromuscular junction that intersects with fibers that have, until this very moment, powered the possibility of chewing. You don't know what to do. This isn't a scenario you've prepared for. "Maybe you should see your dentist?" I suggest. "I've had enough appointments recently," you grumble, digging in your heels like a pouty toddler. As time wears on and the gap between bones persists you decide to ignore your malfunctioning physiology and just go about your evening unhinged. Every once in a while we all deserve a day like that. 250606 what's it to you? who go blather from