Extracting those expensive teeth!

If any of you are squeamish, then apologies in advance....perhaps you'd better not read this post. Turn the computer off and go do something useful!

For the rest of you who may be thinking...well how bad can this be. It's pretty bad, but absolutely, cross-my-heart true. The whole yucky subject was brought up again yesterday by my barrister in an off-the-cuff comment during a court case. Here's a bit of background.

The ex had a dental problem. One that he went to great lengths to conceal for many years until our family dentist was a little indiscreet (she assumed that as his wife I knew my husband only had three or four of his own teeth left and the rest were the result of some seriously amazing engineering!) During my regular check-up and gossip, she advised me that there was not much more that she could do for my husband and he would have to wear dentures. He was only 37 at the time. Anyway, enough of the background. He flatly refused to have dentures and opted for a whole mouthful of extremely expensive titanium implants that we had to re-mortgage our house to pay for.

Fast forward a few years by which time I had discovered that this man had a serious personality disorder with psychopathic tendencies......and yep, he used to shout an awful lot (among other things). Once, he was ranting about something or other, eyes glassy, body tense and menacing when he actually bellowed a tooth right out of his mouth. It flew right across the room and landed at my feet. Ughh. It was a great distraction though! That, in retrospect was the beginning of the end for the expensive, implanted teeth.

A few weeks later during a meal he made a strange face. God, he's sussed that I've laced his gravy with laxative I thought....but no...He'd swallowed a bloody tooth! Well, it turns out that he would have been glad about the laxative (if he had known) because he was determined that such an expense should not go down the pan as it were...sorry. I'll skip the details, but within 24 hours that expensive tooth was back in his mouth! Oh yes, and that was the first of three similar incidences that I know of. Funnily enough, at around that time I kept finding my kitchen colander in the bathroom and blamed the kids....UUUUUGGGGGHHHHH

Oh,I should point out that by this stage of our relationship there hadn't been any physical contact between us for years (thank god, could anyone stomach the idea of kissing the bugger?) and the colander went straight in the bin.

So anyway, I finally made my escape from this psycho and I'm sitting in court yesterday with my lawyer trying to sort out the lies that masqueraded as his financial affidavit. My lawyer has subpoenaed some bank documents and suddenly exclaims "Dear god, it looks like he's spent over twenty grand last month on dental work...what's wrong with his teeth?" So I gave her a potted history.

Meanwhile, our barrister is in another room trying to negotiate some sort of fair deal for me. He knows nothing of the new documents that have just surfaced. This is his fourth attempt in as many hours at coming to an agreement with The Psychopath (but then the barrister is also still unaware of the ex's mental state) Our barrister returns to us running his hands desperately through his hair with an exasperated look on his face. My solicitor and I look up at him expectantly.

"That man is completely mad" he says "Anyone would think we were trying to extract his bloody teeth"

That's when I knew that things were going pear-shaped!

PS. If anyone is wondering about the laxatives in the gravy, have a look at my confessions in the archives. I'm not that bad honestly.

Confessions of a fruitloop

"Mum, what about that time you shaved dad's eyebrow off? Or, when you stuck prawns under the bonnet of his car and it took him weeks to work out what the stench was?"

"Yes, but he deserved it!"

... I'd sort of forgotten the pranks that I used to get up to with my first husband. The trouble was, he was a bit of a prankster himself and during an argument he always had to have the last word. Now, as every women will tell you, from a female perspective, that's way too frustrating. So, to vent my frustration I would dream up the most creative retributions. The longer we were married, the more creative my pranks became until the thirteenth year of our marriage....better known as 'the year of the eyebrow' where I think I went just a tinsy bit too far!

In my defence though, my first husband was pretty good at pranks too. His absolute best was getting me out of the shower to answer the door to him under the guise of loosing his house keys. Now, we lived in London at the time on a busy commuter road. So, dripping wet and swearing profusely, I opened the door with nothing but a towel wrapped around me.

Swiftly and expertly, and with the grace and guile of a stage magician, he stepped inside, swiped the towel away, manoeuvred me onto the doorstep and closed the door! To this day I don't think I have ever moved so fast. Covering my bits with my hands, I sprinted across the front garden and spent the next fifteen minutes hiding in a hedge bordering the roadside with commuter traffic only a few feet away whilst he made faces at me from an upstairs window. Bastard!

The Prankster and I divorced amicably many years ago. In fact, he 's probably reading this blog right now and laughing his head off. Now, my wonderful 'fruitloop logic' told me that I should try a sensible, reliable individual next time around, even if that did equal boring. So, fast forward a few years and by a complete mistake, I somehow managed to marry The Psychopath.....see my archive post.

Now, I blame that film 'The War of the Roses' with Michael Douglas and Kathleen Turner, for giving me some really naughty ideas. Let's have some sympathy here.....Living with a psychopath is infinitely more frustrating than a living with a prankster. Yeah, yeah, I know. Playing pranks on a psychopath is pretty mad and very dangerous. That's when that film popped back into my head.....Think dog food pie, toothbrushes to clean toilets, laxatives in coffee, itching powder in underpants........Enough. Enough.

Eventually, I popped in and very quietly confessed all to The Psychopaths' psychologist, seriously fearing that I too was beginning to lose the plot. Guess what?

Yep, I got complete absolution! It would seem that cleaning the toilet with a psychopath's toothbrush is completely normal.......