Perfection Undone . . .

Something major has happened.  This is BIG.  You might want to sit down.  My sweet Hubby has fallen.  He’s fallen fast and hard from the pedestal of perfection on which I’d placed him {with his help, of course} upon meeting him sixteen years ago.

To help you understand, a little periodontal family history is in order. 

My dad, bless his amazing heart, has the teeth of an ogre. I know that sounds mean, but he would heartily agree. Several of his teeth had to be permanently removed while he was going through treatment for cancer.  Those that remain are iffy.  Some cooperate, while others chip or fall out completely while he is attempting such benign tasks as slurping soup or chewing soft bread. It just is not normal.

My mom has early signs of gum disease.  She spends a lot of time in a reclined chair with dental assistants doing painful things to her gums with names like ‘scaling’ and ‘planing’.  She has to have her teeth cleaned four times a year, instead of the requisite two.  She is a slave to the sonic toothbrush and spool of floss.

My older brother has a mortal fear of all things dentistry.  He had thirteen teeth extracted by the time he was fourteen because he had too many teeth for his small mouth.  He wore braces and retainers.  Now, as a responsible adult, he avoids the dentist at all costs, much to the dismay of the mom with gum disease. And really, his mouth isn’t that small.

My younger brother apparently inherited the teeth of my father.  So sorry about that.  He has endured root canals and pains of all sorts that I cannot even fathom or understand.  He has one front tooth that is a bit discolored.  He also has Vampire fangs, although right about now that probably makes him cool with the teen set.

Then there’s me.  I have beautiful teeth – or so my dentist tells me.  They were wrapped in braces during my adulthood as a gift from the Hubby since I came with a diamond ring.  And though they are white and straight, they are riddled with cavities.  Each cavity is a special gift given to me from the babies I’ve borne, to go along with my stretch marks.

Most recently, I got a new older sister.  She is a dental anomaly.  Her teeth are otherworldly.  Straight, white, not a cavity to be found. I’m sure a study could be done about the water where she was raised versus where I was raised.  Or maybe her mom didn’t let her suck on sugar cubes as a child. {KIDDING.  We did NOT do that!}  She really does have a disarming set of pearly whites in that gorgeous smile of hers.  Lucky girl.

ANYWAY . . . back to the Hubby.  Last night at the dinner table he broke the news to all of us that after thirty-nine years, one month and seven days, he could no longer claim a cavity free mouth.  Yesterday, while sitting in the dental chair, his world came crashing down as the doc found the beginnings of a small cavity in a back molar.

So he fell.  And into really good company. He'll fit in well with our family of dental misfits.  Now I’ve just got to work on that sister of mine.  Maybe I should send her a box of the Samoas that came to my door yesterday.  I’d better go taste one right now to see if they’re any good. 

How about you, sweet readers, do you have a sweet tooth that lands you in the chair?