Utopian Turtletop. Monsieur Croche's BĂȘte Noire. Contact: turtletop [at] hotmail [dot] com

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

Today at breakfast I had a breakthrough. I realized I love my dentures. I've had them since age 10, having lost 8 teeth in an accident almost 33 years ago; my denture is a partial for the 5 lower front. I've always just taken them for granted. As a pre-adolescent I would torture people with them, stick my dentures out to freak them out. Once while out with an indulgent family friend I strategically put them at the top of a milkshake at an ice cream parlor and called the waitress over; she turned very pale and started to take my teeth away before I told her I was "joking." Maybe aggression was my way of coping with the shock of my new anatomy. I believe my family's friend was too indulgent to let me do this. I feel bad for that waitress.

I've lost my dentures twice: once when a housemate found a scuzzy glass of blue bubbles in the bathroom and flushed them down the toilet (ahem, that was denture cleaner; my housemate's insurance got me a new set), once while brushing them over a drain grate while camping -- oops, dropped them. That second loss was fortuitous; the dentures at that point were 15 years old and didn't fit any more. My own insurance at that point paid for half the replacement cost.

This morning I realized I love them. Not only because they make it easier for me to eat. But because they've been a part of me for so long.

Thanks, dentures.
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