True story: I didn’t have a cavity till I was 36 years old.
Honestly. Thirty. Six.
And since then my teeth have utterly betrayed me, leaving my mouth a continual source of worry and irritation.
Things just keep going wrong.
Frankly I don’t understand it.
Honest - I haven’t done anything differently since turning 36 than I did before.
I brush, I floss. I don’t open soda bottles with my teeth or use them to undo knots or kickbox without headgear or anything.
Yet these little problems will keep popping up.
And did you know, (prepare yourself - this may shock some of you as it did me), that if one fails to attend to a little problem with one’s tooth, (and this is the full and honest truth), that little problem morphs into a big problem?
I have had intimate experience with just such a happening and am here to tell you it is neither an enjoyable or pretty sight.
The morphing of a big problem can lead to such things as root canals and tooth extractions.
(The latter is when they pull your tooth out.
As in gone from your mouth. Forever.
And now you either have to live with that weird ass feeling gap in your teeth or pay for this thing called an implant which may well leave you living on the street while your dentist waits for that new boat he’s had his eye on to be delivered).
I think this is all terribly unfair and have put it on my “Things To Inquire About In The Afterlife" List”.
N.B. This is a long and ever growing list. And yes, despite opinions to the contrary I feel quite certain I will be able to take it with me.
Though just to be safe I may spend a great deal of either my hundred and second or hundred and third year memorizing it.
You can never be too careful.
Which is why I’ve always flossed.
Not that it’s done any damn good.