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I've been going to the same place for my entire life so I suppose that's 66 years if I took 4 years to get my proper teeth. Strange every annual check up to mount those stairs in Harley Street and remember I've done so ever since I could walk. My fangs are now glorious (they get scraped and polished before the proper dentist) and, I gather, in perfect working order, if anyone would like a kiss.
I say this every year on here (sorry to bore regulars) but one of the nicest feelings in the world is running ones tongue over newly polished teeth - pure ivory and pure joy. And the worst agony in the world? When the polisher touches the roof of your mouth. Tickling is NOT the word! It's Guantanamo at its worst.