How are his teef’
When I met my husband, the first thing that my father asked, was “How are his teef’?» “Whaaat?” I replied, perplexed. “You know, for the babies!” he answered back. I guess that my father also knew about love at first sight. I had just met Benjamin the night before and was giving my father the recap on the phone the next day. Maybe I was gushing, maybe a father just knows.
In the gene pool, I had inherited my mom’s yellow horse teeth and then had the unfortunate accident of jumping out a swing mid-air only to land on the drinking fountain where I chipped my front tooth off. Why I didn’t use my hands to break my fall instead of my face, I don’t know. And why the Idaho Parks and Recreation people installed a drinking fountain right in front of the swings—we will also never be able to identify how many kids busted their faces attempting the oh-so popular launch out of the swing in a “double tuck” dismount. I also inherited a flat chest. I am terrified for my future daughter, because my mother in law also has the flat tit gene. Luckily we live in France where boobs are not as important as America.
Teeth are not so incredibly important here either. At first, I was shocked to see the newscasters with bad teeth -- some even with *gasp* significant under-bites. The French are not so preoccupied with their teeth, but more than the British because you know, that’s just unacceptable. Long gone are the days of living in California and holding the hand of my best friend, the 9a.m. anchorwoman’s hand as she got collagen face injections. My American photographer for my wedding said, “Honey, you better do Botox before the wedding.” I said, “No, in France, I don’t have to, no one cares! In fact”, I told him, “I am not even going to have my chipped cap fixed where I tried to use my front teeth as vice grips to open an pesky pistachio nut. “Plus, if I turn out looking like a hick, well, that’s what I really am.”
I did finally go to the dentist after three years here and he said, “My, you have typical American PIANO teeth.” As he smiled, I saw his multi-numbered gold fillings and bad bridge work (Note to self: change dentists right away). If only he had seen me Pre-Dr Delmont days in Beverley Hills before the thousands of dollars of dental work: teeth bleaching, shaping, white fillings, crowns, and front caps. He would have approved and I would have passed for a native. He x-rayed my teeth and asked, “Why on earth would I crown teeth that are not dead?” It’s not like I did it myself in my own porcelain tooth workshop converted garage. It’s normal in America if you have 85 percent metal in one tooth to have the fillings taken out (therefore losing your free TV reception) and replace it with a porcelain crown. Or put in a gold one if you prefer and have extra cash to burn, no longer afraid of pirates trying to steal your teeth while you are sleeping, like I am. My teeth had not been cleaned in years, but he insisted that they were perfect. I begged him, “Please just get out that rotary tool and scrub them a bit,” but he chuckled and looked at my husband and said, “These Americans are so obsessed with their teeth.” I also noticed on my paperwork under Occupation: he wrote “American”. Like that was my job -- hey, it’s hard work, and no pay, but someone has to do it.
Life is less stressful here. I figure that in America we stressed too much. This leads to high blood pressure, low self esteem, depression, aggression, heart disease and eventually death. Are my teeth white enough? Did I floss twice today? Do my breasts look too small, too big, too fat, etc? Will I be able to make my co-payment on my insurance bill? These things are non-issues in France. So I am able to eat anything that I want, never floss (they never do) my boob size doesn’t matter (just my intellect—imagine?!) and health care is covered and free.
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You can see that Riana’s wedding photos turned out just fine on her blog http://frenchtoastfrance.blogspot.com/
