Oh, Halloween. It used to be a wonderful excuse to indulge my out-of-control sugar-addiction. I was never super-picky about which candy I ate either. I've never been accused of having a refined palette. In fact, "raised by wolves" has actually been used to describe my eating habits on more than one occasion. Anyway.
As my husband and I slowly age, our candy-consumption has diminished. We still consume, mind you. Especially him. His favorites are Charleston chews and milky ways. I will enjoy the occasional box of junior mints, but I've pretty much sworn off all other candy. Why? It has nothing to do with my weight, or my skin, or any other vanity-related complaint. It's my teeth.
In the past 10 years, I've had to have a couple of root canals, a crown replacement, and a major extraction. In my defense: I take care of my teeth. I brush twice a day, floss, go to my cleanings, and max out my dental insurance every freaking year. I can only chock up my horrendous dental luck to genetics (I AM my father's daughter). But I decided a while ago, that I must give up food that will place my already expensive and extensive dental work in peril. Good-bye peanut brittle, almond roca, and heath bars. So long sugar daddies, abba-zabba, and salt water taffy. I'm even swearing off popcorn.
My husband, on the other hand, is in is forties, has never had a root canal, and never worn braces. His teeth are beautiful. I pray to whatever deity will listen, that my son inherits his father's dental legacy, and not mine. Let the bad teeth genes die with me.
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