And while we're on the topic of teeth (see yesterday's blog below), let me share with you a favorite (old country) story of my father's. It went like this.
I knew a man in Marash who was married to a woman, a woman who took endless trips to the dentist. The man complained constantly that he was spending all his money paying for the dentist to pull one or another of his wife's rotting teeth. So after she died (could her death have been caused by an unpulled rotting tooth?), the man decided that this time when he chose a wife, he would look for a woman with perfect teeth. [Now this man must have been Armenian, since Turkish men were not allowed to see the faces of their wives before marrying.] Hunt as he might, he could not find a single woman with perfect teeth, until one day he did. He was thrilled. He immediately arranged the marriage and soon it was their wedding night. He was happily ensconced in bed with his new wife when suddenly he heard a crash. Startled, he called out, "What was that?" "Oh, dear," cried his new wife. "My false teeth just fell to the ground and shattered!"