Chipped Tooth

We all have them swirling around in the recesses of our brain, cautions and guidance that originate from well-meaning teachers, family, friends, and sometimes strangers.  I’m talking about: don’t cross your legs, you’ll get spider veins; don’t go to bed right after a big meal; look both ways before crossing; keep your hands at 10 and 2. These and similar pieces of advice were dished out during our youth, adolescence, and keep coming well into adult life.  These pesky cautions reverberate in our brains at odd moments, flicker like a smoldering flame, and refuse to be banished.

Words of warning even flood in from our very own superego. Every time I look in the mirror, my inner voice is admonishing: those pants are too tight; your upper arms look flabby; you need a haircut! Yet, all the really irritating phrases, the ones that resound are the ones I hear in my mother’s voice:  finish your peas, no TV after dinner until your homework is done, don’t fight with your sister, and don’t use your teeth to open things.

Recently I had cause to pull out the small flip-up hand mirror that hides in the side pocket of my purse.  I felt like I had a fleck of spinach wallpapered to an incisor. Since I was on a tour bus, I was concerned about having a clean smile.  I cleared the remnants of my omelet, and out of habit, I checked my front teeth for the dreaded lipstick smear.

What???!!!

I zoomed the pocket mirror in for a closer look. My reflection showed a tiny chip out of one of my big bunny teeth, right there in the middle where the two teeth kiss.  I angled the mirror this way and that. The tooth’s corner had snapped off at an angle. The missing piece was a fleck, barely noticeable. Ugh. My tongue had found the sharp edge and was hard at work, playing with it like a Labrador with a bone.

How had I chipped my tooth? I queried the pocket mirror.

Internally I vehemently defended myself.  I do not use my teeth to open things. My mother taught me better. Or did she?  Had I listened, really?

I retrieved the hand mirror. The missing corner of my tooth had made a throbbing crater the size of a raisin in the tip of my tongue. My mother’s voice crackled between my ears:  Don’t use your teeth to open things. Was I using my two front teeth as tools for household tasks? I wasn’t, was I?

That’s when I started noticing, being conscious of every little thing that zeroed in on my pearly whites.  I was astonished. First off, my big teeth were essential in opening the bobby pins securing my favorite updo.  I struggled with another way to pry the pins open while holding my hair in place. It felt like playing tennis with my left hand.  I discovered I couldn’t open the little packet of salad dressing accompanying my ready-made salad, or the small package of honey for my green tea. When I couldn’t find the scissors that I kept in the kitchen desk drawer, I made due with a kitchen knife.

Once I became cognizant, there were a million things, well maybe not that many, but certainly a lot of tasks that are infinitely easier when you have sharp front teeth. For fear of the tiny chip expanding, necessitating an expensive trip to the dentist, I knew I had to stop using my front teeth as pliers, saws and scissors. But, change is hard.

Yes, my mother was right about sparing the pearly whites, and it took fifty years for her words to ring true. I suspect there are a few more of her cautions I should heed. For the time being, I’ve warned my tongue to leave the chip alone, made an appointment with my dentist, purchased more scissors to scatter through the house.  I even found a folding pair that fit into what looks like an eyeglass case. As for the bobby pins, I am still working on this problem. I tried teaching my husband how to open the pins and put them in my hair, but that didn’t go well.

Heed my advice: listen to your mother, and don’t ever let your husband near your hair.