Random Dialogue

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Long in the Tooth

Today while changing in the gym, I took advantage of the spotless full-length wall mirror to take a good long look at myself. Normally, I'd be grimacing at my love handles or flexing my biceps to see if all that working out has made me any more visibly buff, but today was different. Today, I was fixated on my teeth.

At first, it was sheer narcissistic curiosity that had me staring at my own teeth under the bright fluorescent lights. But it was while I was appraising the color of my teeth and evaluating the landmarks of past dental work, I noticed that something was odd about a spot on my front right tooth. This spot of matte whiteness, which several dentists have hemmed and hawed over before declaring it a calcium deposit stain, had once been flush along my gumline. It had also been the source of self-conscious pre-pubescent angst, because the whiteness of the spot cast a dingy, yellow tinge on the rest of my front teeth by contrast. Though my subsequent discovery of teeth whiteners helped some, in the end, I gave up and resigned myself to my funny calcium spot. Who cares? After all, it was only noticeable when I yawned. Or laughed. Or smiled. Or any normal activity that involved me opening my mouth.

But on this particular occasion, that is to say, self-absorbed half naked examinations of self in the women’s locker room, I realized that my spot was no longer flush with my gum line. In fact, it would be more accurate to say the spot had somehow migrated one-third of the way down my front tooth. And then I noticed that the rest of my teeth, though whiter and better cared for than in earlier years, seemed to have a lengthier quality to them. I smiled experimentally. Yes, that grin was quite a bit toothier than I remembered. Years of negligent dental care, a smoking habit I had only managed to kick a few years ago, and a general fear of dentists (and their bills) had taken its toll on my teeth. There was no way around it; I was getting long in the tooth.

GASP.

Long in the tooth? Who uses that phrase any more? My penchant for Agatha Christie (reference Aimee Griffith in The Moving Finger) was starting to bleed over into my every day speech patterns.

I don't flatter myself that I possess any secret fund of knowledge when it comes to language, idioms and what-not. But I'm reasonably assured that that phrase is outdated and become more so. To prove it, I tested the phrase on my boyfriend to see his reaction.

"Wait, what? What does that even mean?" was the predictable response.

Before we jump to conclusions about my possibly questionable taste in men, the boyfriend is a brilliant artist, but also one of those guys whose eyes glaze over when required to read anything not an instruction manual. So it may be that my population sampling is a bit skewed, but hey, he was close by and I needed an immediate test subject.

But my lesser half's question raises some crucial issues: what does it mean? What does tooth length have to do with age? And is there a reason beyond blatant sexism that explains why that phrase is applied to women, and not to men? In my stream-of-consciousness loopy fashion I always thought of the saber tooth tiger when the phrase came up. Considering the prehistoric era in which that long-dead kitty roamed the earth, was it a reference to age? Or perhaps I’m overthinking the science-history part and the phrase is just a reference to the modern day cougar of the two-legged variety? But then again, I don't think Dame Christie was around when they came up with that one, so that washes that idea right out.

Undaunted, I opened my mouth to take another look. Yes, the signs were unmistakable. I could trace the original, smaller shape of my tooth by the white stain, as if someone had spray painted a patina of dingy and removed the stencil, leaving several millimeters of clean, virgin tooth untouched right below the gumline. To me, the contrast was like looking at the marks of waves on a beach, where the tide has left behind waterlogged driftwood and wet stretches of sand. Only in this case, my gums had receded, leaving me with gleaming lengths of tooth.

I stared at myself in the mirror again, but this time with my mouth closed so I could study my face in the glass. As silly as it sounds, I’m one of those women who can’t help but feel a little bit smug every time I’m mistaken for a high schooler. I always titter with embarrassed self-satisfaction when servers make a fuss about how I don’t look like I could possibly be old enough to drink alcohol. (Note, I am also far from what anybody would consider old.) What can I say, we all have our pathetic vanities, and mine is that last little bit of smug youth. But I couldn't help feeling just a tiny bit sad as I stared at my face. Somewhere, at some point, while I was completely unaware, the first flush of youth had slipped out from underneath me. Sure, my friends jokingly called me Grandma, mocked my early-to-bed habits and my tendency to pass out first at parties. But nobody could actually call me an older woman.

But now, there, unmistakably etched in my TEETH of all places, was proof positive; I should probably pay more attention to taking care of my gums and yes, I was getting long in the tooth.

Note: I actually went back and edited the post!