I keep them on a necklace

So today I had my regular dental check-up.

I was scheduled for X-rays this time, and afterwards had just settled in for the cringing that I associate with the many grotesque instruments that my friendly dental hygienist uses. (She’s a lovely lady, and very gentle despite having an extensive array of home improvement tools laying in wait on her sterile tray). As I waited for her to select the first instrument of torture (which turned out to be the innocuous looking mirror-to-you-soul), in strode the dentist.

She took a look at the X-rays, muttered “very good, very good”, which, frankly terrified me, as I interpreted it as “They’re all rotten and must come out, sans anaesthetic, NOW!” She then had me open my mouth, and while spraying air to dry each tooth, looked carefully at my gnashers, each in their turn. There was some muttering about odd pockets which had me reaching to protect my wallet, and then a too-wide smile from the dentist declaring that I had the teeth of a teenager, and they were actually very good!

dentalequipmentsite.com: Choosing dental tools

As the dentist departed (most expensive 5 minutes any dental plan ever pays for), my hygienist asked me to confirm that I had in fact been brought up in the UK (which in Canada it seems, is synonymous with “bad dentistry”). This to the guy with the broadest Yorkshire accent this side of the Pennines! Confirming that, she asked if my parents had sent me to the dentist regularly, as I grew up. Nope, not particularly. Wow! I learned that (not unsurprisingly!) she’d seen many many mouthfuls of teeth, and really, in actual fact, mine were, really very good! “You must have good genes!” Yes, and they were a little damp now…

And the teeth of a teenager? Yes, I do have them. On a necklace in my bedside drawer. Mwa. Mwahaha. Mwahahaha.

TribalMania: Fijian tooth necklace