dental agony

there are times when i really wish i were a damsel in some exotic tribe that required women to cover the lower halves of their faces -or else!- even when they ate tricky things like spaghetti. i live in fear of mirrors, spoons and other shiny surfaces. my life has changed. i shall smile with innocent abandon no more. i take recourse in modest smiles and quivers-of-lip-ends. i am the next mona lisa.

my broken front tooth was to me what his moustache was to poirot, buffaloes to laloo, mummies to ancient egyptians and rats to cats. too dear to part with, serious claim to fame, glamor quotient and source of pride and glory.

it had served me well. on childhood playgrounds, one carefully administered bite with the nicely pointed edge had rendered helpless many a worthy -if villainous- opponent prostrate with fear and pain. on growing up to be a flower of young indian womanhood, it added charm (if friends and admirers are to be believed - and i choose to believe. i am a believer) to my already charming smile, paralyzing many an admirer (or so i am told. reasons for the paralysis to be discussed later) with admiration (or so i am told. again.)

now it is gone.

the small man with the wicked looking tools with support from my traitorous mother took advantage of my helpless fascination with the gleaming thing descending towards my agape mouth and stuck on the rest. half-toothed no more.

now i am like the rest of the mortals that walk this earth.