Why I love… toothache
Thursday, June 24th, 2004
I inherited my mother’s teeth. Now I seem to be returning them, one by one, via the NHS.
With each passing season a new molar tries to break for the border; springing surprise abscesses in the spring, blossoming cavities all summer, or simply falling with the autumn leaves. Thus I’m no stranger to toothache. On the contrary, we’re pals. I love toothache. I have to.
Without rainy British winters, sunny days would just be strange, shiny, squint-inducing anomalies. But because we have wet winters to compare them with, we overlook the squinty pitfalls and revel in the spaces between the rain. We only know the good days are good by the absence of drizzle.
And so it is with toothache. Without my mouth sometimes feeling like the administrative capital of the People’s Republic of Pain, I wouldn’t enjoy the rest of the time, when it feels, well, fine.
Like a pain in the head, grit in the eye or a javelin through the leg, toothache is wonderful only because of its impermanence. While your tooth throbs, you are more aware that it exists than ever before. And when the pain goes away again, your fondness for the mended molar or gummy gap can only be bettered by your love for the entire dental profession.
My weakness for toothache is, of course, connected to the fact that I won’t get it any more if my teeth continue to fall by the wayside. But no matter - by then I will love dentures. Taking my cue from light-reactive glasses, I might develop some diet-reactive false teeth. They’ll stay solid as long as I’m eating raw carrots, but turn flaccid in the face of complex carbohydrates.
And I’m sure I can find something more elaborate than enamel for my oral accessorising. If oak falsies were good enough for George Washington, then I’m sure Ikea will soon stock some form of flatpack pine denture. Chömpa, perhaps.
The future’s bright, the future’s toothless.
- This article was originally printed in the G2 section of The Guardian (link)