One in an occasional series of irreverent reviews designed to help people navigate St. Louis in all its quirky glory.
As a dad who is regularly featured on the cover of Neurotic Parent Magazine, I spend a tremendous amount of energy avoiding unscheduled trips to the hospital. With two young and extremely rambunctious little boys, my brain calculates injury probabilities with enough computational power to melt an Armory-sized data center. But even though I employ over-the-top preventative measures to keep them injury free, like cutting their oatmeal into smaller pieces, or making them wear a helmet to play with play-doh, they still find new and innovative ways to maim themselves.
Especially my youngest son, who recently decided to rearrange his bottom teeth on our oven. Finding himself incapable of waiting for me to get his hotdogs steamed vegetables out of the microwave, he attempted to jump up and get them on his own, only for his face to somehow catch the handle of the appliance below. I could tell something was wrong right away because his mouth was suddenly gushing blood, and it usually doesn’t do that. The second clue was that his bottom teeth were sticking in directions they hadn’t been moments earlier, thus making a trip to the emergency room unavoidable…