Pearly Whites

There was once a boy I dated whose smile was seriously like a slice of heaven. Each time he smiled enchantingly, I could feel a shift in the air around us. In addition to a smile that could have likely caused traffic accidents, he possessed the most beautiful teeth – crispy white, naturally straight, and somehow perfect for his face. He was fastidious about keeping them clean and was one of those people who flossed and brushed at home and at work. Sadly, things didn’t work out and after we parted ways I found myself missing his smile and his pearly whites.

As I began dating, I realized I had become a teeth elitist. Whereas before I’d check out eyes and eyewear, watches and wallets, now teeth were near the top of the list. I yearned for a man with a smile (and teeth) that would fairly sparkle – think Super Man or Brad Pitt after he’s been to the dentist for a cleaning. While, most of my dates had teeth that were alright, there were a few that had me dearly wishing that dental care was mandatory and socialized.

Albert the artist was charming by e-mail and easy to talk to in person. We met at a hip Soho restaurant. I was quickly impressed with Albert’s knowledge of the city and tried to pay rapt attention to what he was saying but couldn’t stop staring at his teeth – small, yellowy, pointy stubs that looked sharp – kind of like fish teeth I’d seen on display at the Natural History Museum. Needless to say, the thought of kissing him didn’t do much for me.

Tom the teacher came across as perpetually in a good mood whenever we spoke by phone. Set up through friends, we met for the first time at dessert bar in Midtown. As soon as I saw him, he reminded me of someone–he was short, bald, had an endearing close-mouthed smile, and pretty eyes with the kind of long, slightly curling eyelashes that no man should be blessed with. As we walked inside, it hit me – he reminded me of Snow White’s Dopey. Well, Dopey always was one of my favorites. Then, he started talking and I was mesmerized – his teeth were slightly green, jagged, and there was some kind of build-up going on. In addition, he also had terrible breath. I could feel my lips lock.

Mike the movie buff was sweet over the phone and we shared a love of indie films. He was embarking on a second career and back in school studying film, which I found fascinating. We met at a coffee shop on the Upper West Side. Upon seeing him, I thought tall, friendly, and cute. And then he smiled. His teeth were astonishing – some brown, others grey, some rotting away, and some missing completely. Oh dear. He obviously was concerned about his choppers as he kept placing his hands in front of his mouth. I never knew I was a lip reader but it didn’t take long for me to lose the thread of our conversation – did he say he likes to play tennis with nuns in the springtime? Needless to say, we parted with a hug.

I’m almost ashamed to admit my new love of clean, shiny, white teeth but I suppose there are worse things to be drawn to. I always try not to judge a book by its cover but there is something to be said for a man who takes care of himself and by extension his teeth. I guess you could say that I have the utmost respect for the man who has floss, paste, and a brush and who isn’t afraid to use ‘em.