B has a bite plate.
The dentist was concerned that he's grinding his back teeth away to nubbins, so now he has a plastic doo-hickey that he wears to bed that looks rather like a football players' mouthguard.
I forgot about it until he came downstairs looking grim and slightly puffy-cheeked, startling me.
He spoke through the bite plate. "Noffing." Then, as he looked at me beginning to giggle, he shook his head at me. "Why ar oo waffing?"
When I was thirteen I had a retainer that made me talk with my teeth together.
Yeah. (I spoke with my teeth together.) And it's all coming back to me now.
Bear eyed me for a moment, then nodded. Foot on the bottom stair, he reversed and came back to the computer desk, tapping my shoulder.
He looked resigned. "You're bwogging thith, aren't thu?"
I nodded. Some things are too good to pass up.