I will admit to the fact that I am a freak, possibly a throwback. Seriously! Sorry I don’t have any of my friend Andra Watkins’s great phrase turns to explain it, but my dentist will vouch for it all the same. In fact more than one of my dentists would. With each new dentist I get, not long after the examination begins the exclamation of, “Oh my word! Do you mind if I take a picture of this?” rings out.
At least one of my dentists has gone so far as to document my teeth in some “permanent record” in case my body ever needs to be identified by dental records alone. And that alone is not a prospect that has you brimming over with hope.
As it turns out though the reason for all of this excitement is because I show evidence of being exactly what I am – a meat rending carnivore. After close inspection each of my dentists has discovered that I have serrated canine teeth. All four – both top and bottom. Not only do they poke out a bit further than their surrounding teeth, but they are quite sharply scored along the back and, at least according to the very (very!) few people I have bitten over the years, do a bit more damage than the same teeth of other normal folk. As one might say, in this case, my bite really is worse than my bar.
So why I am I tell you this? Well, I am not real sure other than to tell you if I shuffle off this mortal coil please don’t let them bury the wrong person. Or bury the right person too early.