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ALDO’S BOTTOM TEETH are so crammed together they jut in every direction. He’s got dark brown coffee stains where one tooth meets the next. The more I think about his mouth, the more disgusted I feel.
Maybe I should take a look at my own teeth before I’m so critical of his. I just can’t help the way my stomach turns when I think of him. His teeth didn’t look that way when we met. I could show you a picture, if I had one with me.
Aldo had perfect teeth when we married. Pearly whites.
It’s age that crams teeth together, age that had stains them yellow, then brown. That’s what happens, as the years go by. If you don’t pay attention, your teeth crowd in on one another. They discolour badly.
That’s what happens, if you let it.
My friend Jacintha taught me all that. I don’t happen to be an expert on teeth and aging. Neither is she. Her fancy boutique dentist warned her about these things.
Jacintha’s the type of woman who takes special care in her appearance. She’s roughly my age, but you’d never guess it from her looks. I’d say she might even be a year or two older than me, though she’s the type whose age is impossible to pin down. Smooth cinnamon skin, thick raven locks. If you spotted her on the street, you’d fall instantly in love.
Botox, lasers, lotions and potions—Jacintha goes in for all that. She’s a captain of industry, but she could just as easily pass for a movie star. She’s got that going for her: star quality. And a mind like a steel trap. At least two PhDs that I know of.
Her infinite allure draws in all sorts of people, but most get turned swiftly away. Why she keeps me in her life, I’ll never know. I don’t have much going for me.
Now less than ever.
It bothers me, slightly, that I’m so preoccupied by the memory of my husband’s teeth. I’ve never been the type to judge others based on outward appearances. It’s what’s inside that counts. That’s what I’ve always said.
But there’s something about those teeth that turns my stomach.
I have this feeling in my gut that I’ve made the right decision, even if the voices in my head are telling me I’ve screwed up.
Royally.