Go see a dentist. Now. I'm going to.
I had drinks with two exes last week. Normally, I throw myself at them. Even the fat ones. But what saved me this time was that both of them had disgusting teeth.
Adam (the ex boyfriend) merely had a gaping hole in his stained teeth. A fascinating, jagged wedge that almost sparkled in the dim light. For Joe (the ex shag), however, it was worse. Years of doing his own dentistry with home filling kits had caught up with him. Instead of a normal row of gnashers, his teeth were like pebbles on a beach - layers upon layers of wedged fillings, each a different shade of fizzing decay.
The teeth were my salvation. Joe is astonishingly beautiful and terribly straightforward... but everytime he grinned his rockery smile my stomach lurched.
Adam hasn't really changed much since last I saw him. Still madly in pursuit of teenagers ("Was at an 18th birthday party last night. Shan't see him again."), and a career. He's now decided to become a lawyer. I begged him not to.
Finally, after a year, he gave me back some of my stuff. Or rather, a pile of books and a t-shirt that wasn't mine. "This isn't mine," I said.
Adam glanced at it. "No. Too small," and pocketed it.
Apart from vile teeth, both insisted on showing me their camera phones, full of pictures of their recent shags.
"It's because they're desperate to prove they're doing okay," I explained to Lee over lunch the next day.
"Yeees," Lee toyed idly with his salad, "That's absolutely it. Life's downhill after you. Carry on telling yourself that. Go you."
So anyway, two evenings of looking at bad teeth and pictures of my ex shags. Adam looked down at his phone sadly. "That's all of them. Howabout you? Any pics on your phone?"
Yes Adam. One of you sucking off an old man for money.