Adventures in Dentistry

 I've brought home my forever teeth!

They were ready a week early so, instead of having the temporary caps removed, having a kind of proto-tooth photographed and sent back to the lab and then ANOTHER set of temps a clamped on - which was the initial plan - he just stuck the new teeth in. They look great. Natural. They're white but they're not a Rylan full-beam. They feel natural and strong and are so thin compared to the clogged clay of the temporary teeth. 

The cost - as always - was eye-watering. Today's session cost fully half again the price of all the treatments I've had over the last six months. I wont tell you how much that is as that would involve me actually typing out the figure, and I'm not sure I'm ready to do that yet. I may need some therapy. And not of the retail kind either. 

The reaction to my exquisite smile has been...subdued. I went out to a gig the other day, expecting people to ask me to smile like it was my party piece, as though I were performing a dazzling piece of close-up magic. "Oh my God, John. do that again. It's amazing. Hey everybody come and look - John's doing stuff with his mouth!" Nobody noticed at all. Eventually I brought it up - I didn't want to, I don't want to be a tooth bore - but it was a huge deal for me, the culmination of six months of fairly complex and committed cosmetic surgery, and it was getting nothing. So I brought it up, even offering to smile for my friends, which felt so wrong. I haven't smiled for decades. I'm grin-shy. It felt like getting the old chap out and waving it around in the pub. Nevertheless, I WAS proud of the freshly minted sparklers, so I assayed a few smiles, running the gamut from smirk to full Joker. 

Nothing. Shrugs. Nervous smiles. A coughed "Very nice."

Sigh. 

If someone bought a pair of knock off Aviators from a covered market you'd make positive noises. If they'd purchased a couple of Ben Shermans from Primark and gave you the price, you'd nod and smile and told them how clever they were to get such a bargain (if not the Ben Sherman shirts). If a friend unveiled a tattoo, still pink and sore and wrapped in cellophane, you'd coo at it like a newborn baby. But my dazzling smile garners no response. Okay. 

I don't really care ("But you've just written a blog about it, John...") I expect nothing and that's what I get. My friend Shauna tells me she doesn't really notice people's teeth, and maybe nobody does except me. Perhaps I'm just projecting my self disgust at the shards of excavated crockery that populated my mouth for so long. 

But Susan likes the teeth. Several times a day she'll stop me and ask me to smile, like I was a woman just trying to live her life. When I smile she smiles back at me. Her's is my favourite smile, so mine is now my second favourite. So it has all been worthwhile. 

The Mona Lisa is hovering about 654. Show a bit of tooth, love. 

I shall miss my dentist. He was the only person I knew who was really interested in my film career. We were quite pally by the end. Mind you, I'd be very matey if every time I met someone they gave me a thousand fucking quid. They'd be in my will.   

And that's the end of it. First appointment in January, my next and last appointment will be in June. Six months to turn a landfill into an ornamental garden. There are peacocks strutting on my gums. Six months lying on my back with my mouth open, being taken advantage of. Like being back in prison. It's over. 

Until I get the implants, obviously.