Smile, Goddamnit.

     

     Another trip to the Dentist today. Dentist appointments are coming up too often. What the hell?

I broke a tooth eating a salad the other night and have to get it repaired, replaced or removed. Nothing like those options to limit my desire to smile pleasantly at everyone I meet.

     People keep bitching that I don’t smile enough. Screw them. What is that all about? What’s the big deal about smiling? I watch people, a lot, and very few are actually in a constant state of “smile”. When I run into an acquaintance and the first thing he says is “Smile!” it makes me want to throw a punch. It’s like saying, “Wow, you look tired.” Yep, that’ll help to get a friendly conversation started.

I saw a photo of myself taken 13 years ago. Nice big white smile, black hair, tanned and relatively unlined.

     Well, Smilers, things change. The hair is thinning and graying. I still have some, but graying nonetheless. I’ve just returned from three great months in dark, crowded Paris, France, and the tan has faded to a fine urban pallor. I was beginning to blend in. The only tans in Paris are the fake ones that are sprayed or smeared on. The colors range from Cirrhosis Ocher, Tangerine, up to and including Tomato Soup. Match that with eggplant-hued hair dyed in the kitchen sink and you’ve got a really colorful and horrifying vegetable sub-species of misguided insecurity.

     The smile? Hah. I’m on the way to the dentist to discuss that issue. I floss, brush, have regular cleanings but the teeth are no longer white. They look natural, but not the white-white that can only be obtained through prescriptions or expensive treatments. They’re like abs. Hard abs and snow-white teeth are the first steps to a career as a celebrity look-alike, a personal trainer or a German porn star. Why would I spend a lot of dough on whitening a tooth that may not even be present in six months?

     And that’s the issue. I’m missing a couple of teeth in the back so my smile, which I used to use as a manipulative or threatening component of my confused progress through a difficult and sometimes dangerous day, is disappearing, Cheshire-cat-like, one tooth at a time. Today, I’m being fitted for a temporary replacement so that I can chew, which would be a luxury, and also so that I can, perhaps, begin to smile again.

     But I don’t feel like smiling. Not that I can’t or don’t want to. I’m not depressed or angry. I smile when I’m happy. I’m happy sometimes, but mostly I’m striving for neutrality, contentment. Benignity. And the more dentistry I am subject to, the less benign I feel. I have a great dentist, Dr. T, he has a clean office, friendly staff, but hell, it’s not a place to go for good news. Even my primary physician, Dr. L, the guy who will, eventually, give me the bad, bad news, occasionally he says, “You’re looking good. All the numbers are in the healthy range. Keep up the good work.” Wow. What a high. I usually head right for the grocery store and buy a frozen pizza and a gallon of ice cream. That’s one of the reasons I don’t try to achieve acute happiness or expect joy to be a constant. I just can’t manage it very well. Fear of failure has always been a threat, but success has often led to hedonistic behaviors far beyond the norm, way out on the edge of the bell-shaped curve of indolence; events and activities and indulgences that can never be reported to anyone.

     Good news at the Dentist’s? Nope. Never. The most I get is, “That one will probably last another year or so. We can wait.”

     Or, “As I look at these x-rays, I see that you have two options. Pain and discomfort and disfigurement, or extremely expensive treatments that will take all of your disposable income and may or may not be successful. No more trips to Paris, no more computer upgrades, new clothing or movies. Ever. So, what do you want to do?”

     The Dentist Office. Where to go when you really need bad news.

I’m a realist. Hair is a variable; the color will continue to move away from the darker range on the spectrum, into an indeterminate dullness and the texture will become more feathery; some days it looks ok and on others it is thin, wiry, and sparse. My scalp will become available for public viewing. Skin will sag, crease and eventually flake off, exposing bone and organs. I look all right in certain light, but not for long.

     Smile! Show us your teeth! Say Cheese!

     Nope. For now, I’m satisfied with a moderate, tight-lipped grin that doesn’t stray too close to joy. That is where danger lies.

     But there is really nothing like a big, fat, fake, toothy smile when someone I would rather avoid appears.

     “Hey, how the hell are you. Great, really great to see you. Oh, shit, we absolutely have to get together for lunch or coffee but I need to be somewhere right now. Man, I am gonna be late for my dentist appointment. Good to see you. You look tired, though.”